


His Father's Son

by dragonflash



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bullying, Child Abuse, Gen, Homophobic Language, Statutory Rape, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 84,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6356899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflash/pseuds/dragonflash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two boys from two different worlds. Are they so different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flash Who?

\- MJ

\- U THERE

= Hey, Tiger. Wat up?

\- IM FREAKIN OUT

= uok?!

\- FLASH

= ?

\- THOMPSON

= wat about him?

\- HES HERE

= where?

\- MY HOUSE

= huh?

\- FLASH FREAKIN THOMPSON IS IN MY FREAKIN SHOWER!!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First fic! The following chapters will be longer and tags will be added as needed. Comments are most certainly welcomed!


	2. School Days

\- 6 months ago -

"Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Peter Parker readjusted the straps of his backpack, tightened the grip on his camera, and sighed. 'Another day, another assault-and-battery', he thought tiredly as he hurried to the crazed, inward-facing circle of students. Every day this week, a crowd gathered outside before first bell and every day this week, some unlucky kid started his day being pummeled by the big man on campus, Flash Thompson. Peter sighed again as he pushed through the crowd and into the center of the circle where Flash was currently straddling a kid half his size and repeatedly, viciously, punching him in the face.

"Flash, that's enough." Peter pleaded for the fourth time that week to, once again, no avail. "Flash! Stop it!"

At the raised volume, Flash paused mid-swing and lifted his angry, red eyes to meet Peter's gaze. "You want to take his place?" he growled.

"No, I just want you to stop hitting him. What did he even do to you anyway? Did he do anything? Do you even know who he is?"

"My business is my business. Stay out of it." Flash broke eye contact with Peter and continued punching his victim.

Peter sighed heavily and shrugged his backpack off his shoulders. He dropped it on the ground and gently placed his camera beside it. The last three days, Flash had walked away upon being called out. Apparently, that had lost its effectiveness. Peter squared his shoulders and dove at Flash, tackling him off of his latest victim.

Flash had to have been surprised by the attack, but somehow managed to roll with Peter's momentum and launch the super-powered boy into the brick wall of the school building. By the time Peter scrambled to his feet, Flash had gotten to his as well.

"You got a death wish, Parker?!" Flash practically screamed, fists clenching and unclenching furiously at his side.

"You got a movie cliché, Flash?" Peter mocked before he could stop himself. "Look, just walk away and cool off. You're at school. Everyone knows you're the toughest, okay? You've got nothing to prove."

"You need to stop trying to tell me what to do. Put up or shut up, Parker." Flash raised his fists.

Peter sighed. "Okay, I'll shut up. I don't want to fight you." He put his hands up in surrender.

"Such a wuss." Flash turned to leave and his foot clipped the camera Peter had laid on the ground. He stared down at it for a moment before lifting his head to smirk at Peter with a gleam in his eye.

Peter paled. "Flash..." Time seemed to slow as he watched the angry jock bend down, pick up the expensive camera, and throw it with all the strength in his baseball pitcher/football quarterback arm. It exploded against the same wall Peter was thrown into just minutes earlier.

"Oops." Flash pushed through the remaining crowd and strode through the parking lot.

Peter covered his face with his hands in disbelief. He had scrapped and saved every penny for eight months to buy that camera. Now it was gone. He sifted through the debris to come up with the thankfully intact SD card. He hoped there were enough decent pictures on the card to earn him enough to buy a decent camera. He did have his job as the Daily Bugle's web designer/IT to help things along, but it would still be months before he'd have enough money saved for a camera as good as this one. What was Flash's problem?! Peter had tried to see him in a compassionate light. He knew Flash was mourning Gwen's death, too, but this had gone too far. Flash was going to end up really hurting somebody. The first-hour bell rang and Peter rose to his feet. He slipped the SD card in his pocket, grabbed his backpack, and headed into school.

Inside, the crowded halls were rapidly clearing out as students ran to make it to their respective seats before their names were called in roll. Peter, whose classroom was on the opposite end of the school and up a flight, found himself automatically pausing to look into Room 117. Being habitually late to class, he used to start every B-track day with a smile and a wink from Gwen, who would then playfully urge him on to class with a nod of her head. A different girl was sitting in Gwen's seat in 117 now; a girl whose name Peter didn't care to know. Eventually, he made it to Room 254 just as Ms. Hartche was closing the door. He slipped his foot in between the door and jamb and gave Ms. Hartche his winningest smile as he pushed his way into the classroom. "Ma'am."

"Mr. Parker. Would you do the honors?" She handed him the V-shaped swing arm lock.

"Thank you, Ma'am." He closed the door and deftly slipped the lock onto the swing arm, effectively locking the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously strays from the movieverse a bit, and also the comic books. I'm picking the best flavors from each world and combining them. I wanted them in the close quarters of high school for at least another year following Gwen's death. Not sure if they're seniors or juniors yet...


	3. Missing In Action

It wasn't until the last track of the day that Peter realized Flash had never returned to school following that morning's fight. Midtown Science High operated on an alternating schedule of A-days and B-days, each consisting of five ninety-minute tracks. On A-days, Peter had all AP tracks and only saw Flash at lunch. A-days were nice. On B-days, however, Peter had the great Parker luck of getting to share his only junior-level classes with the jock: English, History, and Phys Ed. And lunch. His only relief on B-days was Computer Programming. Peter supposed Flash was still hen-pecking his way through Keyboarding. In any case, Peter was now lacing up his sneakers for fifth-track gym class, the one class Flash excelled at, and he was nowhere in sight. Ordinarily, Peter would hardly notice Flash's absence as his attendance record was spotty at best, and by rights he should hardly be troubled by it, as the equal opportunity bully had often made Peter his victim. But the morning's altercation coming at the end of an increasingly violent couple of weeks for the boy kept tickling at Peter's brain. 

Peter had known Flash since they were seven years old, when Flash and his family moved into the house behind Peter's aunt and uncle. An old, warped, wooden fence separated the two yards. When Peter and his parents came to visit, the tiny scientist would spend hours in the yard observing various bugs, studying the foliage, and cataloguing rocks. Flash would often cross over via climbing the rickety fence or jumping from tree to tree to land on the ground beside Peter who'd have to urge him not to pull the wings off ants or throw the worms around. The boys would journey through Central Park or along the harbor and have days-long adventures at the end of which Flash would usually join the Parkers for supper and often sleep over. After Peter's parents went missing, Peter moved in with his aunt and uncle, but the adventures between the boys ceased as Peter spent most of his time in his room. Then sometime around eighth-grade, Flash started picking on Peter at school. He was never sure what started it, but it happened seemingly overnight. They had different social circles and interests, and rarely crossed paths for all the times they should have. Very often, Peter even forgot he lived next door to the now eternally angry boy. If he had done anything to earn his former friend's cruelty, Peter was unaware of it.

"Thompson! Get your ass out here already!" Coach's voice bellowed from the locker room doorway.

Laces tied, Peter closed his locker and approached Coach. "He's not here, Coach. I think he went home sick."

"Sick, my ass. Lazy, more like." Coach kicked the trash can over and clapped Peter on the shoulder. "Get your ass out there, Parker. Your balls aren't going to miss the hoop on their own."

"Yes, sir!" Peter held back a sigh and hustled onto the court where the rest of his classmates took turns throwing basketballs at the same hoop. The school still hadn't replaced the backboard on the second hoop after Peter broke it last school year. It was supposed to be up by basketball season. In the meantime, Peter was faced with a gaping reminder to keep his ego in check around the jocks that had pushed him around his entire life. It wasn't easy, knowing he could wipe the floor with them without breaking a sweat.

Peter glanced over to the bleachers, where the usual group of girls sat giggling and showing each other their nails. Right in the center, as usual, was Liz Allan. She was the shortest of the group, barely stretching over five feet, but by far the loudest. Hardly ever pausing to take a breath, Liz spoke more words per minute than some of the jocks even had in their vocabulary, in Peter's opinion. She was very pretty, though, with soft blue eyes and tight curls in her shoulder-length reddish blonde hair. Her makeup and clothes were always fashionable and very bright and she had a smile you could feel from across a room. Everyone wanted to be Liz's friend. If not out of attraction to her magnetic personality, then out of self-preservation. As generous and supportive as she could be, Liz was also known for her short temper and ability to hold grudges. The rumor was that once Liz Allan ended a friendship with someone, that person was better off just changing schools. Liz was also known to be boy-crazy, and while she could have nearly any guy in the school she wanted, she followed tradition. Liz was the head cheerleader and Flash Thompson the captain of the football (and baseball and basketball) team, and so the only guy she wanted was Flash. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be as interested in her as she was in him, so their relationship was nearly one-sided.

"Hey, girls!" Peter jogged up to them, beaming.

They all took a comical amount of time exchanging exaggerated looks before Liz spoke up. "What do you want, nerd?"

"Prom is just around the corner, so I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring before you all get inundated with other offers."

"OMG." One of the blondes interjected.

"Now hear me out! A bunch of other guys, and maybe some gals, are going to come along and try to sweep you off your feet. They're going to talk dollars, move fast, try to pressure you into making a decision right now before they drop you and move on to someone else. They'll promise you the world and when you finally commit? Push you back in line with everyone else. They'll take up all your time, make you rearrange your schedule around them, take you for every nickel they can squeeze out of you...and then not deliver. Or worse, leave you with memories you'll want to stuff in a box and hide in the back of your closet. I'm begging you not to let that happen! You are far more valuable than to become a nameless face on somebody's Rolodex."

"Well..." Liz started.

"Come on. I'm available anytime, anywhere. School, your house, the park, the river? I'm there. Friday night, Saturday, midnight, sunrise? I'm your guy! You know I'm not going set something up with you on a Saturday night and then just not show up, right? I mean, what else do I have going on?"

Liz blinked. "Um...which one of us are you asking out?"

Peter stuttered. "Which am I...who...no, you don't... Pictures! I'm offering to take your... I take pictures. Right?" He could feel his face burning with embarrassment.

Liz smiled sweetly. "Petey, I would love to have you take my prom pictures. So would everyone here. Right, girls?" She turned and, judging by the astonished looks on the other girls' faces, Peter was glad he couldn't see the expression she wore. Soon, they shook themselves to awareness and stumbled over each other to agree the most, the loudest, the most excitedly. Liz returned to Peter. "Well, there you have it: eight new clients and counting. You better get yourself a calendar, stud." She threw him a wink and left the group, walking towards the rack of basketballs.

Peter ran after her. "Liz! Thank you! Thank you so much! And thanks for not making fun of me over that misunderstanding." He added quietly.

She graced him with the same sweet smile. "I heard about Flash breaking your camera earlier. I'll spread the word that you need to be paid upfront to make an appointment. Maybe that'll help you buy a new camera in time to use it on us?"

"Wow. That's... That's really considerate of you, Liz. Wow, thank you. You..."

"Fuhgeddaboutit." She laughed lightly and then paused. "Say, you know that aggressive salesman approach you used on us?"

"Yeah." Peter cringed.

"Keep that in your Rolodex. Totally worked." She smiled, waved her fingers cheekily at him, and was gone.

Peter breathed in her light apple scent and stood mesmerized. The rest of the day went by in a blur and it wasn't until later (six hours, ten attempted muggings, and several yards of non-reusable webbing later) that Peter realized he'd forgotten to ask Liz if she'd seen Flash lately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided they're all juniors, keeps it closer to the comic book timeline since Peter was supposed to become Spider-Man at 15, not 17 like the movies tend to do. Thanks to everyone who left kudos!


	4. What We Do

Peter stored his skateboard in his gym locker on B-days, making for an easy escape from school via the outside gym doors that led to the track and football field behind the building. This being football season, Peter's least favorite schoolmates stampeded their way from their classes through the halls to the locker room at the close of each school day. Peter appreciated the quick exit B-days provided. If he cut across the track and then the football field, he could jump over the fence in the southeast corner and duck unseen into an alley that gave him both the cover to change into his "work clothes" and a broken air conditioning unit in which he could hide his deck and backpack. He quickly crossed the track and slowed to a walk as he reached the football field where Flash Thompson was setting up groupings of plastic orange cones.

"You didn't come back for class." Peter tried to sound nonchalant.

Flash didn't pause his work. "Did Coach forget to tell me you joined the varsity team?" He asked darkly, not looking up.

"Nooo..."

"Then get off the field." 

Peter stopped walking now and watched Flash place a few more cones. Now was not the time for an attempt at conversation. Not now, but eventually, Peter promised inwardly. He broke into a run and crossed the field in no time. Keeping an eye on Flash, Peter climbed the high chain link perimeter fence and dropped down lightly on the other side. He dashed into the low-traffic alleyway and, hoping not for the first time that his Spidey sense worked against Peeping Toms, quickly stripped off his school clothes and stepped into his Spidey suit. He'd decided after a close call last year that wearing the suit under his clothes was too risky. He even took the extra precaution of discreetly adding a lock and hidden pocket to his backpack where it stayed hidden throughout the day. Now he shoved his backpack into an old air conditioning unit that was long since forgotten about, put his skateboard on top of it, and replaced the cover. He tossed a few cardboard boxes on top of the unit for extra insurance and scaled the wall of one of the adjacent buildings.

Around 9:30, Peter was back in the alley throwing his clothes on over his Spidey suit. Aunt May was working the midday shift at the hospital and should be done around 10:00. He walked the eight blocks to the hospital, noticing as he passed the football field that the team was still working out. They were running their final laps, Flash living up to his nickname by outpacing the rest by a long shot. Peter knew the late practice would be followed by an early morning for the team. It was Coach's infamous "double header" strategy. Just as Coach coached every team at Midtown, most of the athletes played several sports. The upside was that there were never conflicting schedules. The downside was that if a student decided to join a team, they had little time for anything else. Peter reached the hospital just as Aunt May was walking out the main entrance doors. "Hellooooo.... nurse!" Peter kissed her cheek. "How goes the battle?"

"Sure and steady." Aunt May replied. "And how was school?"

"Really good! I've got eight clients already for prom pictures!"

"Oh, sweetie, that's wonderful! Let's swing by Frozen for a celebratory banana split." She beamed.

"Well, I have been trying to watch my figure, but I guess I can always hit reset tomorrow!" They laughed freely as they entered the ice cream shop.

"What can I get for you two?" The girl behind the counter smiled at them warmly.

Peter joined in Aunt May's reply. "One banana split, fully loaded, with three spoons, please." Aunt May playfully elbowed her nephew in the chest. "Cheeky."

They sat at their favorite booth in the corner beside the jukebox, the absence of Ben heavy on their minds. The three of them would often come here together to share a banana split, usually after an educational achievement of Peter's or good news from either of the elder Parkers. "How was the rest of your schoolday, sweetheart?" May asked.

Peter saw the tiredness in her face and ignored the memory of his camera flying past his head and exploding against the wall. "It was good. Nothing special except for the cheerleading squad wanting to talk to me!"

"Well, no wonder you're walking so tall! Those would be your prom clients then?"

"Yes, ma'am. As soon as Liz Allan was on board, the rest just followed. As they do." 

"And does Miss Liz have a date this year?"

"I assume she's going with Flash. As usual."

"What has your Uncle Ben told you about assuming?"

Peter smirked. "Not to ever repeat it to you." He shrugged. "I'll probably just be going to take pictures for the website again. I don't want to get distracted by a beautiful girl hanging off my arm."

"Fine. I'll stay home then." Aunt May winked and scooped up the last of the ice cream. "But you should ask her anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, forgot to post this two weeks ago! Next chapter is half done already and it shouldn't take too long to finish up. Get ready for a familiar face!


	5. New Girl In Town

Peter woke up to the smell of frying bacon and heard the toaster pop. "Oh, man!" He stretched and leaped out of bed smiling. "Aunt May, I'm up! You're the best!"

"Orange juice or apple, sweetie?" May called up the stairs. 

"Eggs or waffles?"

"Flapjacks shaped like various geometric shapes."

He rolled his eyes and grinned wider as he ran his toothbrush under the stream of water coming from the tap. "Apple, please! And flavored syrup?"

"Maple IS a flavor! Don't wear the same pair of jeans again, dear; no one likes a sloppy boy!"

Peter kicked his jeans into the hamper and walked back into his room with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt with an image of a boombox on it. He was feeling humorous today. He finished brushing his teeth, got dressed, and ran down the stairs skipping three at a time. "Aunt May! Good morning, you beautiful lady you!" He kissed her cheek and plopped onto a chair at the kitchen table.

"Good morning, dear. Your feast." She placed a plate of oddly-shaped pancakes and crispy bacon on the table in front of him, followed by a glass of apple juice and boysenberry syrup.

"What's a boysenberry, anyway?" He asked, pouring a generous amount over the contents of his plate.

"You look it up on that Google and let me know. And run a comb through your hair." She kissed the top of his head. "Don't be late to school! I'll be home around 7."

"Yes, ma'am. Have a good day at work!"

"Ask that Liz Allan to prom today before that bully does." She picked up her bagged lunch and set Peter's next to his backpack on her way out the front door.

"We'll see!"

"Ask her!" She called and closed the door.

"What kind of shapes are these supposed to be?" Peter shoveled the pancakes into his mouth as only super-powered teenaged boys can do.

 

The bell was ringing as Peter skated rapidly toward the front doors. His first class was Advanced Calculus, and that was fine, but he was really looking forward to second track Laboratory Science. They'd been working on an experiment all week and today they'd find out and report on the results. Peter found science fascinating. He used the threshold of the doorway to hop off his skateboard and caught it in midair. He tossed it to the security guard Dave, moonwalked through the metal detector, swung his backpack off his shoulders and into security guard Jasmine's outstretched arms, accepted his deck back from Dave with a bow, and leaned onto the security desk, head propped up on his elbows, and waited for the search through his backpack to be done. 

Jasmine looked up at him. "No camera today?"

He sighed. "We're not going to talk about that today. Today is science day. There's no place for sadness on science day."

Jasmine stared him in the eyes, unblinking. "Okay then." She zipped up his backpack and pushed it to him. "Have a good one."

"You, too, Officer." He slung his backpack back on his shoulders and started off down the hall. As he passed the science wing, he overheard Liz chewing out Flash.

"What do you mean you're not going to my party?! Everyone's going to be there! I already have the keg ordered, I've been stockpiling chips for weeks, I've got food being catered in; I can't cancel now! This is the prom preview, Flash! We're showing homecoming highlights from last year." She was pleading now. "Flash, please! I was going to make it special for you." She batted her eyes and Peter was glad he wasn't in Flash's shoes. He'd give her a kidney if she looked at him like that. Heck, he'd give her both!

"I told you, I'm busy. I have to work."

"You can't take one night off?" She was getting mad again.

"I already take too many off during football season. It's just a stupid party, Liz. You'll have another."

Liz lowered her voice and laid her hand on Flash's huge bicep. "I told you, I was going to make it special for you." She tried to relay some secret message through her eyes, but Flash was oblivious.

"I got class. See ya." He shook off her hand, turned, and walked into the classroom.

Liz slowly turned, furious, and caught sight of Peter several feet away. "Petey! Oh, Peter!" She waved and ran up to him, eyes sparkling. "Here's $200 for my photo session, is that enough? At least that's what I told all the girls to give you today. If it isn't enough, we'll call it a deposit. When can we get together? Can you come to practice after school? I can change into my dress and we can walk to the museum together. I thought we could take some pictures there. You don't mind waiting, do you? You'll tell me if my dress is too revealing, won't you?" She was speaking loudly now, hoping Flash was listening. "I tried something a little lower cut than I'm used to, but I figured hey! It's prom, right? The best night of my life?"

Peter blinked. "Junior prom is the best night of your life? Isn't that supposed to be your wedding?"

"Oh, Petey! You're too funny." She grabbed his elbow. "Walk me to class." She laughed brightly and flipped her hair off her shoulder. Peter glanced into the Chemistry lab to see Flash paying no attention whatsoever to Liz's act. He sighed and started with her towards the mathematics hall.

"So what time is practice over? My last track is study hall, and I don't really have anything to work on today, so I was sort of planning on leaving early...but I can come back after practice. Maybe you can just call me when you're done?"

"This is me!" Liz pulled him to a stop outside her Geometry classroom. "You can come to practice and collect deposits and watch pretty girls jump around. Then we'll go buy a camera and take pictures at the museum. Okay? Great. See you later, Mr. Parker." She kissed his cheek and disappeared into the stream of students.

Peter unconsciously put his hand to his cheek. "Okay." He responded too quietly and too late. 'Poor Flash!' he thought as he made his way down the hall to his own math class.

Second track Laboratory Science went so well that the results of Peter's experiment led him to pursue it further and prompted him to stay in the lab through lunch. It was only when Liz's voice called to him that he looked up from his work.

"Peter, there you are! We looked for you at lunch."

"I skipped lunch. Who are we?" He was tongue-tied at the sight of Liz's companion. Taller than Liz by several inches, the stunning redhead wore a dazzling smile confidently. Peter hadn't realized someone could be more magnetic than Liz.

"This is Mary Jane Watson, our newest cheerleader. She transferred in from L.A. this year. Basically, we bumped Crystal down to alternate to make room for her because...hello! Right? So all sixteen girls will be there to pay you and set up their appointments." Liz beamed.

"Sixteen? Wow! That's...yeah, Liz, we can pick up a camera on the way to the museum after practice. Sixteen?!"

Mary Jane laughed and it sounded like bells. "Face it, Tiger...you just hit the jackpot!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There she is! All of the teachers, by the way, are modeled after teachers I've had. It takes all kinds. Comments are welcomed!


	6. After School Special

Peter wove his way through the hallway to the library. His last track on A-days was study hall and he often skipped it since he rarely had to study and got most of his schoolwork done at lunch, but today he had agreed to meet the cheerleaders at practice after school, so here he was with time to kill.

"Hey, Tiger!" A warm voice greeted Peter as he walked past the first row of tables.

"Mary Jane, right? From California?" Peter smiled at the redhead.

"Wow; looks, brains, and a good memory to boot! Not a bad combo, Tiger. Come, sit." She took her backpack off the chair beside her and patted the empty seat.

"Um, I could sit across from you. You don't have to put your bag on the dirty floor." He offered and set his backpack on the table across from her.

"That seat's taken. Besides, you don't want me to have moved my bag for nothing, do you?"

"Point, MJ." He slid his bag across and walked around the table to her side.

"MJ?" She arched a beautiful eyebrow.

"I thought we were doing nicknames. Tiger?"

She laughed a bit too loudly and was shushed by the room monitor. "I've been trying different memory tricks to help me learn people's names. You're wearing orange and black: tiger. Unfortunately, that doesn't help me remember your actual name." She blushed lightly.

Peter looked down at his orange t-shirt and black jeans. "Ha! Okay. Well, it's Peter. Peter Parker." He extended his hand and she slapped it away playfully.

"And you're 80? Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I'm MJ."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like it. New city, new life, new name!" She threw her arms up in the air in a dramatic 'Ta-Da!' pose.

"So Liz is joining us?"

"Hmm?" She waited for Peter to motion to the empty chair on the other side of the table. "What, you think I've only made one friend?"

"No, I'm sure everyone you've met has become your friend."

"Likely. No, I'm waiting for my scene partner. My Brick."

"What?" Peter laughed.

"What's so funny? We're doing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in Drama and I got the female lead. I'm waiting for the guy playing Brick. The male lead." She explained after noting his blank expression. 

"Oh! Well, when he gets here, I'll leave. I don't want to interrupt."

"Or you can give us notes. We could use them! We've only been working on it for a week, but it's not the most comfortable dialogue. We have to work on chemistry, Mr. Farrow says. So, we're supposed to spend 'every free moment' together. Unfortunately, he doesn't have many free moments." 

"Well, he's sure a lucky guy. Does he need an understudy?" 

"You charmer." MJ drawled in her best southern belle accent and batted her eyes playfully.

"So you're an actress, huh?"

MJ's face lit up. "That's all I've ever wanted to do since I was like three! Well, that and model and sing and write. I would love to get into one of the fine arts schools here. I doubt I'm good enough for Juliard, but there are so many others to choose from." She looked down as her phone dinged. Her smile faded slightly. "Well, looks like my partner isn't going to make it. He has Algebra this track and tried to get his schedule switched around, but I guess he couldn't. I'm going to tell him to have Mr. Farrow talk to the office. Maybe they'd be understanding then." She finished texting and looked Peter in the eye mischievously. "So what do you do in study hall when you've nothing to study and no one to meet?"

Peter's heart raced. "Um, you could tell me about this play. I've never heard of it."

"Shut up." MJ looked shocked.

"What? Should I have heard of it?"

"Have you heard of Tennessee Williams?"

"Isn't he a baseball player?"

MJ giggled. "That settles it. Give me your number. I'll text you my address."

"What for?"

"So you know where to go tonight. We're watching the movie tonight after practice. You're coming."

"I'm taking pictures after practice. With Liz."

MJ started texting again. "I'm telling Liz to reschedule. And inviting her. It'll be fun! MJ's housewarming movie matinee!"

Peter couldn't help but smile. Her energy was contagious! "Matinees are afternoon showings. But I'm in."

"I know." MJ winked at him. She finished typing. "Done. Okay, Tiger, put your number in as you walk me out to the football field. We can hang out there until practice." She handed Peter her phone and picked up her backpack. As they passed the room monitor's desk, MJ wiggled her fingers in a wave.

 

By 6:00, football practice ended and Peter found himself hanging around the parking lot with MJ and Liz. "So, did all the girls remember to pay you?" Liz asked.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, and everyone is scheduled. I'll pick a camera up tomorrow before work and we'll be good to go. I left this weekend open for you, Liz, since we have to do this movie thing now."

She giggled as MJ over-dramatically gasped. "There's that party tomorrow night, but Sunday would work for me. MJ, let's do our pictures together! It'll be fun!"

MJ shrugged. "Sure. Oh! There's my Brick! Thanks for showering, stud." MJ wrinkled her nose at...

"Flash?!" Peter was speechless. He watched MJ casually throw her arms around Flash's neck and kiss his cheek. 

She batted her eyes at the quarterback. "I invited a couple of friends. They've never seen the movie, either."

Flash looked like he was barely holding his anger in check. "I don't usually do homework in a group."

"It'll be fun! Maybe they'll have some insight we don't." She laced her arm through Flash's. "Come on, let's stop for a pizza on the way. My treat." She grabbed Liz's hand and they all started across the parking lot with Peter alongside.

Flash's car was a steel blue 1970-something Mustang. Peter was impressed by the cleanliness of it, admiring the way the sun glinted off the shiny exterior. Flash pulled the driver's seat forward and the girls climbed into the backseat, leaving Peter to stand awkwardly next to Flash. "Um...shotgun." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly and walked around to the passenger side. Both boys climbed in and Flash started the engine, winking at the girls in the rearview mirror as the car growled to life. "Nice car." Peter offered. Flash didn't acknowledge him.

"Gets along better than a skateboard anyway!" Liz tugged at Peter's ear, letting him know she was kidding.

They pulled away from the school and up to a pizza parlor. The girls urged the boys to wait in the car for them as they ran in to order the pie. The silence left behind was too much for Peter. "I didn't know you were in Drama." He received no response. "MJ seems nice." Nothing. "So how have you been doing? It's weird, isn't it, being in school without her? I keep finding myself walking past her locker and waiting outside her classes. Which is weird, because she'd be in different classes this year anyway, but I guess in my memory she'll be in those classes forever." He stumbled over every word and then stopped to catch his breath. "I don't take pictures of the debate team anymore."

"Gwen." Flash's voice was nearly inaudible.

"I miss her." Peter offered.

"You can use her name. She had a pretty name. It was her grandma's." Flash stared out the side window.

"Really? I didn't know that. I guess I never asked."

"Gwendolyn. Her dad's mom. George."

Peter bit his lip. Flash had no emotion in his voice. "Captain Stacy didn't like me."

Flash looked over at Peter, surprise evident on his face. "What?! Yes, he did. He was impressed by you. Like everyone else."

Now Peter looked surprised. "He told me to stay away from her. He thought I was crazy and almost arrested me when I had dinner at their house."

Flash scoffed and shook his head. "He did arrest me. Never told me to stay away from Gwen, though. He asked me to watch out for her. Talk about letting a guy down." He turned back to the window.

Peter was speechless. "Flash..." Just then his door was opened and a pizza box was placed on his lap. 

"Don't even think about opening that box, Parker." Liz warned as she and MJ squeezed back into the car. "Home, Flash!" Flash mock saluted and pulled away from the curb. He dutifully followed MJ's directions and they reached their destination in minutes.

Peter was surprised when they stopped in front of Flash's house. "I thought we were going to your house, MJ."

"Well, my aunt's. My mom and I are staying here until we find a place." She took Flash's offered hand and let him help her out of the car. She ran up to the front porch, motioning for them to follow her.

Peter stood in confusion. He grabbed Flash's elbow as the larger boy walked past. "Your mom is MJ's aunt? Are you two cousins?"

Flash stared at Peter as though he'd grown a second set of eyes. "Are you serious?" His anger was starting to come back. Peter simply shrugged and looked perplexed. "We moved three years ago. I don't know Mary Jane's aunt. I didn't even know she lived here." He shook Peter's arm off of his. "If I did, I wouldn't have come. I hate this house." He stormed off after the girls.

Peter hurriedly caught up to the group who were halfway up the stairs. "Aunt Anna, are you home? We're doing homework in my room!" MJ called, but there was no response. "She must be out. I'll get you guys settled and go grab us some drinks." 

Flash's anger had grown dark and subdued on their way up the stairs, but once in MJ's room, he brightened. "So, Mary Jane, looks like you brought California with you!" He chirped lightheartedly as he looked around the room decorated with posters of beach scenes, shells and beads, sunglasses and floppy hats, and enough clothes to fill three closets.

"Har, har." She handed Flash a remote and DVD. "Get the movie ready. I'll get us some ice cold California Lemonade."

Flash watched the redhead leave and Peter saw Liz bite her lip nervously. "So have either of you seen this before?" He tried to break the tense silence. Neither schoolmate answered, but Peter's question did seem to wake Flash from his staring and he walked over to put the DVD in the player.

Liz started going through the bottles of nail polish sitting on MJ's desk. "Ooh, Pineapple Whip. What do you think of this, Flash? Think I could pull off yellow?" She held the bottle up so he could see. He didn't even glance her way.

"I think yellows would look great on you, Liz. But I'm pretty sure you could pull anything off." Peter tried to lift her mood. It didn't work. She sat on MJ's bed dejectedly. Peter grabbed the DVD case out of Flash's hand. "Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor? I'm not much into old movies, but I've heard of those two!"

"Not from baseball, I hope." MJ entered the room carrying plates and four glasses of lemonade. She smiled as Flash took the glasses from her and passed them out.

Peter blushed. "No, I saw Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid when I was little. I thought it was great."

"What's baseball have to do with anything?" Flash asked, helping himself to a slice of pizza.

"Our dear Mr. Parker thought Tennessee Williams was a baseball player." MJ filled her own plate and sat on her bed next to Liz.

Flash smirked slightly. "Well, he's closer than I ever thought he'd be." He looked Peter in the eye. "Ted Williams was a great baseball player. Tennessee was his brother."

MJ laughed so hard she almost choked on her lemonade. Liz smiled and reached for a slice of pizza. Peter sat on the floor to watch the movie and urged himself to keep his mouth shut from now on.


	7. It's My Party

Peter woke up to his blaring alarm clock. On a Saturday. Ugh. He ended up going on patrol for a few hours after last night's movie and didn't get in until 2:00. Now his plan of going in to work for a few hours before meeting Liz and MJ for pictures wasn't looking so great. Aunt May was already at work, so Peter decided to web his way to The Bugle and grab something to eat along the way. Who knows, maybe all the criminals decided to sleep in today. He quickly threw a T-shirt and jeans in his backpack, brushed his teeth, put his Spidey suit on, and jumped out the window.

 

Flash put the last can of diced tomatoes on the shelf and looked up at the clock. 8:15. He'd been at work just over an hour and it felt like four. It was going to be a long day. There was football practice at 3:00 and the game at 7:00. He hoped Coach wasn't in the mood to make the team stay after for a post-game practice as he often would. Flash had not been getting much sleep this week. His dad, who was never in a great mood, had been especially touchy since his latest girlfriend left him over the weekend. How the jerk keeps convincing women to come home with him Flash will never know. They must find abusive drunks charming. He picks them all up in seedy bars and they all have issues anyway, but Flash just couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing. 

"You boy, watch door! Ten minutes!" A voice called from the stockroom.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Kim." He took off his apron and stepped behind the front counter. He'd been working at the Korean grocery store for two years now. It was 24-hours and they didn't exactly have a schedule, so it was perfect for Flash. If he had a few hours to spare, he'd come in and Mr. or Mrs. Kim would take some time off. If he needed to leave before they got back, he'd lock the door behind him and put a note on the door that said "Gone fishing. Be back when the worms are gone." Flash didn't get it, but Mr. Kim assured him it was "very funny. Very American Andy Griffith." Flash didn't know who that was. Mr. Kim's English was pretty good, but Flash thought sometimes the humor didn't translate. He pulled his math book out from beneath the counter and continued his struggle with the weekend's assignment. He hated Algebra. The bell above the door jingled and he looked up. "Parker? What are you doing here?"

Peter looked just as surprised. "Getting some food on the way to work. I didn't know you worked here." He approached the counter.

"Add that to the list." Flash muttered. Frickin' Peter Parker. The guy doesn't notice anything around him unless it affects him, but everyone thinks he's such a flippin' superhero. It drove Flash crazy to think about it sometimes.

Peter didn't seem to hear him. "What have you got, Algebra II? Who do you have?"

"Algebra I. Koch." He glanced up as a Korean couple entered. "An-yŏng-ha-se-yo!" He acknowledged them. All he could say in Korean was hello, thank you, and good-bye, and he was pretty sure he sounded like an idiot doing it. The customers were gracious, though, and didn't fault his effort.

"Too bad they don't offer Korean at school, huh?" Peter smiled.

Flash just stared back and decided not to respond. What an idiot. "You were getting some food?" 

Peter flushed. "Yeah. Sorry." He made his way over to the cooler and looked over the selection. "You know, if you need help with your Algebra, I don't really HAVE to go to work today. I'm meeting Liz and MJ at noon to take prom pictures."

Flash looked back down at his scratched out work. He really didn't want to take help from Peter. "Yeah, Liz mentioned that last night when I took her home. Pretty sure I'm beyond help."

"How much?" The female customer held up a bundle from across the store.

"Two dollars." Flash called back. 

"That too much." The customer argued.

Flash shrugged. "That's what it is."

"You make one dollar fifty."

"Sorry, it's two dollars. It's out of season."

The woman looked upset and put the bundle back down before continuing her shopping. Peter brought a bottle of milk and bag of donuts to the counter. "Well? Impromptu Algebra tutoring session?" He smiled at Flash.

Flash chewed on his lower lip as he entered the sale into the cash register. "$4.29. I don't know, man, I think you'd just be wasting your time."

Peter handed him a five dollar bill. "I'd rather waste my time trying to teach you than waste it at the Bugle. At least you don't blow cigar smoke in my face."

Flash stopped himself from saying one of his dad's favorite lines. 'You here, and all those comedians out of work.' He handed Peter his change and shrugged. "I guess an hour wouldn't hurt anyone. You'd still have time to go to work for a bit and I could actually do what I'm being paid to do." He angled the math book so Peter and he could both read it. 

Three hours and forty customers later, Peter's phone dinged. He looked down to read MJ's text. "Hey, I've got to head over and meet the girls. They're on their way to the Met. We're doing some museum pics."

"Sounds exciting." Flash mumbled around the end of the pencil he was chewing on.

Peter took a final glance at Flash's paper. "You're doing great, man. Looks like you've got it."

Flash looked up, unimpressed. "Yeah, until the test comes around and I forget it all. I'm just fumbling through here. Thanks for your help, though. I appreciate it."

"Sure. Hey, are you going to Liz's party tonight?"

"Yeah. I wasn't going to, but she's all stressed about it. She was pretty upset last night. I'm not staying long, though. I hate those things."

Peter was stunned. "That's not what the post-party talk in the halls sounds like. Thought you were Mr. Life-of-the-Party?"

A smirk ghosted across Flash's face. "I may have some trade secrets." He went back to writing in his notebook and Peter knew the conversation was over. 

 

At 10:00, the victorious Midtown High football team raucously made their way up the sidewalk to the Allan house. A victory party was always louder than the other option, and Flash found himself nervously running his dad's work schedule through his head. Officer Harrison "Tank" Thompson of the NYPD always volunteered to work the evening watch on game nights, but he wasn't always scheduled to patrol the school neighborhood. The idea that his dad could be the one called to break up the party kept Flash away from the keg and always in sight of the street traffic.

"Hey, boys!" The cheerleaders were already on the front porch, awaiting their conquering heroes. They'd had time to run home ahead of the team as they showered and had a twenty minute recap of the game from Coach as though they hadn't just played it. The team joined the girls and their other classmates inside where the music was blaring. A loud cheer went up from the dancing crowd as they entered.

"That's for you, man!" One of the defensive linemen slapped Flash on the back. He raised both arms in the air. "Let's hear it for the Captain! Flash! Flash! Flash! Flash!"

Flash acknowledged the cheers and let himself be led through the crowd to the kitchen where two cheerleaders were filling plastic cups with beer from one of the two metal kegs sitting in the corner. Liz worked her way around Flash and took one of the cups. She wrapped her arm through his and tickled the back of his neck with her fingernails. "Here's to you, stud." She emptied the beer in a few gulps and raised the empty cup above her head. "Woo! Nice show, Midtown!" She led the party in more cheers. Grabbing another full cup of beer, she held it towards Flash's lips. "Here you go, baby. You deserve it."

Flash took the cup from her. "It was a team effort." He raised his cup and the din died down. "Thanks for supporting the team. You guys give us something to play for!" The crowd whooped and applauded. 

Liz took Flash's cup from him and downed it as quickly as the first. "I'll go grab us some more. Don't go anywhere!" She danced her way away from him and back through the crowd into the kitchen where MJ and Peter were entering through the back door.

"Good game, hero!" MJ approached Flash and kissed his cheek. 

"Yeah, Flash. I didn't realize the quarterback could make touchdowns." Peter added, hands in his pockets.

"When your quarterback's the Flash-Man, he can! Wow woo!" One of the players howled, overhearing.

Peter looked at Flash with a raised eyebrow. "Wow woo?"

Flash smirked as Liz returned with two more cups of beer. "Sure, you haven't heard that one yet? All the kids are saying it."

"Here you boys go. MJ, come with me." Liz handed the cups to the guys and grabbed MJ by the hand. In a moment, they were lost in the crowd.

"I'm heading to the front room." Flash gestured with a nod of his head and Peter followed him through the crowd. He stopped by the stairway railing while Flash climbed around and sat on the fourth step from the bottom. "So which one convinced you to come?"

Peter blushed. "To the game or to the party?"

"You tell me." Flash rolled the cup between the palms of his hands.

"MJ. I do go to the games, you know. I try to get some action shots for the school paper."

"Not for the Bugle?"

Peter shrugged. "They have a guy they buy sports from. Seems all they want out of me is Spider-Man."

"Too bad he isn't our QB. You'd be raking it in." Flash rubbed a hand through his hair and over his face tiredly. "Listen, Parker, I'm gonna let you in on a secret."

Peter started. "What is it?"

"I come to the party, make a big noise, high five and all that, then I go upstairs. I take a nap. Because I'm tired." He answered Peter's puzzled look. "A few hours later, when the noise dies down, I come back down, slap some backs, make a joke or two, and head out. People show up at school Monday thinking I was the life of the party. No one ever notices I was gone for half of it." He paused and winked as Peter stood slack-jawed. "You tell anyone, I'll kill you." He laughed quickly, set his untouched cup of beer on the step, stood, and climbed up the stairs.

Peter stood staring up the staircase for seconds after Flash disappeared from view. "Huh. Who would have thought?"

"Who would have thought what, Tiger?" MJ asked from behind him.

"That football parties could be so much fun." Peter set his beer down beside Flash's and turned toward the girls.

"Was that Flash going upstairs?" Liz asked.

"Yeah. He should be back soon. So show me the ropes; do we dance?"

"We do!" MJ grabbed a hand each from Peter and Liz and led them to the middle of the dancing crowd. They soon got caught up in the music and lost track of time. Liz whispered in MJ's ear and waved as she snuck away.

"Where's she going? It's her house; she can't leave!" Peter tried to keep up with the redhead's great dance moves. She was so graceful.

MJ rolled her eyes. "She's going to hunt down her boyfriend, of course. So co-dependent."

Peter chuckled. "Well, one of them is, anyway. I don't think Flash even wanted to be here tonight."

"So what's his deal, anyway? Is he just a total douche, or what?"

Peter laughed again. "Yeah, pretty much. And yet everyone wants to be his friend for some reason. I don't get it."

"And what about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

Peter winced and bit his lip. "Um, I did. She, uh...died. Last year. Maybe you didn't hear about the crazy monster problem we have in town."

MJ stopped, eyes wide. "Peter, I'm so sorry!"

"No, you didn't know." He shrugged and also stopped dancing without realizing it.

"I did hear about the monsters. That's kind of why we moved here, actually. Aunt Anna didn't feel safe being alone but she wouldn't move out west, so..." She placed her hands on Peter's shoulders. "I've also heard about your spider guy."

"Spid-" 

Peter was interrupted by Liz running down the stairs, crying. She grabbed MJ by the hand. "Get everyone out. Peter, tell them to leave. Get out! Go home! Everyone out!" She started frantically pushing people towards the front door.

"Cops! It's the cops!" One of the football players yelled and the students all dashed for the nearest exit. Within minutes, the trio stood alone in the middle of the litter-strewn living room.

"Liz, honey, are you okay?" MJ ran a comforting hand down her sobbing friend's hair.

"Go home, Peter. Leave me alone." Liz wailed against MJ's shoulder.

Peter walked over to the stereo and turned it off. He raised an eyebrow at MJ and made his way to the front door. The street outside was empty. There were no police cars in sight. Peter closed the door behind him and put his hands in his pockets, walking slowly down the sidewalk. What a weird day.


	8. Rumor Weed

= hey tigerrrrrrr

\- Hey, MJ! Rested up from last night?

= u hav no idea

= liz is over here

\- At your Aunt's? Is she okay?

= idk she wont talk about it

= sumthing went down w flash last night

\- Is it serious?

= idk she wont talk

= shes sleeping now

= bring muffins and coffee

= get dressed first ;-)

\- See you in 15.

 

Peter tiptoed down the hall and peeked into Aunt May's room. Her bed was made and the window stood open to let the morning breeze in. Perfect. He jumped out her window and onto the ground. Aunt May's room looked out to the west side of the house and wasn't visible from the street or yard thanks to a massive storage shed the neighbors built years ago. Aunt May had railed about it for weeks until Uncle Ben pointed out that it not only provided some relief from the unforgiving summer sun that used to light up their room past their bedtime, but also provided privacy from the neighbors' nude sunbathing activities. Peter ran to his bicycle and took off as quickly as he could toward the coffee shop a mile away. No need to risk a Spidey sighting and sans suit he wasn't tempted to keep too close of an eye out for crime. 

Fifteen minutes later, Peter was walking up the Watson's walk with a bag of fresh-baked muffins and three large mochas with extra whipped topping. MJ opened the front door before he could knock. "She just woke up." MJ greeted him.

"What, am I the only one that has to get dressed anymore?" He smirked at MJ's Fantastic Four pajamas.

Because anyone else would be embarrassed, MJ stepped back, raised her arms in a graceful pose, and twirled. "Do you like them? My welcome to New York gift from Aunt Anna. She thinks the Human Torch and I would have beautiful babies together."

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "You're a hoot."

She shrugged. "He's a hunk. I'm not totally against arranged marriages." She winked and grabbed the bag of muffins from him. "Come on. There better be chocolate in here."

"I have met a girl before." Peter followed her up the stairs to her room where Liz sat wrapped in a blanket on MJ's bed. Her eyes were red and puffy, but Peter couldn't tell if it was from crying or lack of sleep.

"Comfort in a cup, sweetie?" MJ handed a coffee to her friend who took it without looking. "Petey brought some muffins for breakfast, too." 

At the mention of Peter's name, Liz looked up. The anger on her face was eerily similar to the expression Flash wore so much lately. "Why are guys such assholes?" She spit out viciously.

Peter felt defensive. "Am I here to play punchbag? Because I hate that game."

Liz started crying. "What's wrong with me?!" She buried herself in MJ's arms and Peter took their coffees before they spilled.

"Oh, sweetie, there's nothing wrong with you. Isn't there, Peter?" MJ pet Liz's bed-mussed hair.

"Of course not!" Peter sat down beside them and took Liz's hand gently. "Tell me, Liz. Do I need to kick Flash's ass?" 

"Yes." She hissed.

MJ gave Liz back her coffee and took a sip of her own. "Tell us what happened, sweetie. How bad is this?"

Liz took a deep breath. "I found Flash in my bedroom. In my bed."

"He snuck away to take a nap." Peter agreed.

Liz nodded. "Yeah, he does that. He works so late and gets up early to run. He doesn't sleep much. He likes to take me to the movies and always falls asleep in the theater. At first I thought it was cute, but sometimes I think it's weird that he can sleep anywhere." She took a long sip of her coffee. "He was on top of the covers and didn't even take his shoes off, and he looked so sad. So I thought I would snuggle with him. Maybe it'd cheer him up. And it worked, too! I laid down in front of him and wrapped his arm over me and he squeezed and held me so tight." She glanced up and blushed, almost forgetting Peter was there. 

"It's okay, sweetie, we're your friends." MJ urged gently, still holding her hand.

"I guess I gave him the wrong idea, because he started kissing me and put his hand up my shirt and touched me," she blushed again, "and then he started climbing on top of me. I told him to stop, that there was a party downstairs, but he started lifting up my skirt and I told him to stop again, but he wouldn't! He's so strong and I got scared, and when he let go of my arm to undo his pants, I hit him as hard as I could in the face and got away and ran downstairs to you guys. I was so scared!" She started crying again and MJ held her tight.

Peter was stunned. He wanted to hunt Flash down and make him feel as helpless and scared as Liz was. "Liz, we should call the police. That's assault."

Liz shook her head quickly. "No! It wasn't as bad as it sounds. He was drunk and I gave him the wrong impression. I told him it was going to be a special night. He probably thought I meant sex, but I just meant I was going to show a video some of us girls made from last season. Like highlights of his best plays. It was my fault."

"Nonsense." MJ looked furious. "I don't care what you told him about a special night; you said no and he should have stopped!"

Peter did remember Liz telling Flash that at school. He also remembered seeing Flash with beer in his hand, but he didn't remember seeing him drink any of it. Peter felt uneasy with the information he was just given. "Liz, has anything like this ever happened before? Has he ever hurt you before?"

Liz shook her head. "He isn't always nice, you know? Like, when we first started dating, he'd open doors for me and always tell me nice things about the way I looked or my cheers, and he'd take me out a lot, but he isn't nice anymore. He hardly ever says nice things to me and a lot of times just ignores me. And if I want to go out, he's got practice or work or he has to go home. But he's never been rough with me. He's never even pressured me to have sex, either. He acted like it wasn't a big deal."

"Are you sure he's never been rough with you? He's been so violent at school lately."

MJ looked concerned. "He does seem to have a pretty bad temper."

"He does, but not against me! Not against any girl. He can be mean, but he'd never physically hurt a girl." Liz defended her boyfriend.

"Except you. He hurt you." MJ corrected, softly. Liz started crying again.

Peter was seeing red. "I'm going to go find him. He owes you an apology. I still think you should call the police."

"No! Don't you dare tell anyone, Peter Parker! It was just a stupid mistake at a stupid party, I don't want him to get into trouble!"

"Why is everyone always protecting this guy?!" Peter exploded. "He's a danger to everyone at school, he doesn't respect anything, and all anyone cares about is he can win sports games! Who cares?! What about just basic decency? You let him get away with this and he'll just do it again or worse!"

MJ stood and put her hand on Peter's shoulder. "Maybe you should go for a walk and cool down a bit, Tiger." She sat down by Liz, who wore a shocked expression. "I've got this."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, okay. Let me know if you need anything while I'm out. I won't go too far." He shoved his hands in his pockets, sighed, and left the room.

 

 

 

Flash walked into school Monday (on time for once!) and felt the familiar atmosphere of once-free students dreading another long week of captivity. There were the usual flirty looks from the girls and pats on the back from the guys that always followed a weekend game win. He smirked a bit and nodded at a couple of his teammates that were waiting for him at his locker.

"You dog! I can't believe you finally did it!" Tommy clapped him on his shoulder.

"I can't believe he let her lead him on this long!" Kong added.

"Yeah, dude, how far did you get? I thought you'd been doing it the whole time!" Carl chipped in.

Flash opened his locker and hung up his backpack. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Yeah, right." Kong laughed. "What, you already found a new girlfriend yesterday?"

"Leave it to the Flash-man!"

Flash looked around and noticed all the looks directed their way. Crap. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"It's all over school, man." Tony offered. "Liz is telling everyone you dumped her cuz she wouldn't put out. Is that true? Did she leave you hanging?"

"What else is she saying?" Flash's brain started racing.

Kong shrugged. "You know, you were all making out in her bedroom at the party and you wanted to go all the way and she didn't so you dumped her ass. Finally. It's about time, man. If she didn't do ya by now, she never will."

"No kidding." Carl agreed. "I figured she's been with the rest of the team, don't know why she closed up shop for y-" His voice was cut off by Flash grabbing him by the throat and shoving him back against the lockers.

"Shut your mouth." Flash growled in his face. "You don't ever talk about Liz like that again. Or any girl. Got that?" Carl nodded, his face turning red from lack of oxygen.

"Hey, it's cool, Flash. Get off, man." Kong pulled Flash off the other boy. "Cool down, dude, teachers are around."

Flash grabbed his English book out of his locker and slammed the door shut. "Liz is a decent girl, you got it?" He watched his teammates nod in agreement and turned to walk to his classroom. Lost in thought, he didn't see Peter in time to avoid running in to him.

Peter turned and glared at Flash. "Still pushing people around then? You should consider not being an asshole for once." His eyes focused on Flash's. There it was. A discolored bruise around a split on his right eyebrow. Liz said she'd hit him hard in the face. "Nice shiner, jerk."

Flash brushed him off. "Have you seen Liz?"

Peter's glare hardened. "Listen to me. You stay away from Liz. You don't touch her, talk to her, text her, ask about her. You so much as look at her and I will slam your head through a wall. Is that clear?"

Flash managed to look exasperated, angry, and unimpressed all at the same time. "Relax, dweeb."

"You should be in juvie, you degenerate. I can't wait until you pick on the wrong people."

Flash was taken aback. He stepped around Peter and entered their classroom. Ms. Hartche was writing on the board at the front of the room and the other students were hovering around their desks, not wanting to sit until they had to. Flash made his way to his usual seat in the far back corner by the window and opened his book to the page Ms. Hartche had written on the board. Poetry. Flash breathed a sigh of relief. He had been struggling to keep up with the reading assignments the past few weeks and now that he was in the midst of football season, he wouldn't have any extra time to devote to schoolwork. As far as school went, Flash found that English and History weren't as painful as math and science. All in all, B-days were pretty great for the struggling student.

"Okay, class, sit down. Today we start poetry." Everyone noisily sat at their desks as Ms. Hartche closed and secured the door. "Page 257, please. Who's my first reader? Introduction." Flash started following along in his textbook, but quickly found himself lost in thought. So much drama. He hated going to school parties for several reasons, but chief among them was that there was always so much negative fallout the day after. A house full of drunk, hormonal teenagers high on adrenaline from the game just descends into jealous gossip and hurt feelings. He hated it. He took his role as team captain seriously. He was constantly urging his team to be better on and off the field, but he was too messed up himself to be much of a leader. Like every other adult in Flash's life, Coach viewed the players as disposable. Run over the weak and make the win. "Mr. Thompson, are you with us?" Ms. Hartche's voice cut through his thoughts. 

"Huh?" Flash actually shook his head to bring himself into focus. "I'm sorry, I was thinking."

Ms. Hartche winked gamely at him. "Don't waste it all in first period, Champ. We're doing poet overviews. Do you have a favorite poet?"

He blushed slightly and shrugged. Some of his classmates were snickering. Don't get mad, don't get mad, don't get mad. "I don't know, not really I guess."

"Then why don't you take on Robert Frost?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He liked Ms. Hartche. They didn't get along his freshman year, but started to warm to each other in his sophomore year, and when he discovered he had her again this year, he was actually happy about it. She was strict and unbending, but fair. He respected that. 

"Okay, class, research, research, research! Due Wednesday is a short biography and a biographical poem. Trust me, they all have one. Due Friday is a sampling of their range of prose styles. Due Tuesday is an overview showing how their poetry reflected their worldviews. Due Thursday is a presentation of the poem that best represents the poet. Dress to impress Thursday. Questions? Good. Go, be free, my birds." 

Flash finished scribbling the assignment in his notebook and rose to gather his things and leave with the rest of the class. As he turned around, he caught a glimpse of scared blue eyes and a curly ponytail tucked under a baseball cap. "Liz."

"Flash. What happened to your face?"

"What do you care?"

She shrugged. "I care. You know that."

"Really?" He spoke softly enough to not be overheard. "You care enough to make up stories about me? I learned some things today, Liz."

She bit her bottom lip and lowered her eyes. "I was just angry. But, Flash," she looked him in the eye with a steely glare. "You deserve it. You deserve everything you get, you selfish, stupid, hateful piece of shit."

Flash didn't blink. "Ok, Liz. You be the victim. But stop pretending we're something we're not. The next time you act like we're a thing, I accidentally tell someone the truth. Got it?"

She laughed sharply. "You have no idea how that would play out, do you? You are such an idiot. Whatever. Better dress up nice for our homecoming picture, King Caveman. I'll be on the arm of a real man anyway." She brushed past him and sat at a desk.

Flash felt his stomach roll. He didn't like anything about this situation. He may be a bully, but he was never a bang-'em-and-hang-'em kind of guy. He really liked girls and really respected them. 'Well,' he thought, 'people believe whatever they want anyway. At least this way Liz will leave me alone.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from this song that still pops into my head 20 years later...  
> https://youtu.be/cc-fMzuu4s0  
> That is all.


	9. So Dramatic

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Flash whistled lowly. "Like what, Maggie?"

"The way you were looking at me just now, before I caught your eye in the mirror and you started to whistle! I don't know how to describe it, but it froze my blood!" MJ clutched her shirt to her chest. "I've caught you looking at me like that so often lately. What are you thinking of when you look at me like that?"

Flash shrugged. "I wasn't conscious of looking at you, Maggie."

"Well, I was conscious of it! What were you thinking?"

He shrugged again. "I don't remember thinking of anything, Maggie."

MJ glared. "Don't you think I know that...don't you...think I know that..."

"Know what, Maggie?" Flash's voice was cool and collected; the polar opposite of MJ's.

"That I've gone through this...hideous...transformation. Become...hard! Frantic!" She pauses and hangs her head piteously. "Cruel." She raised her head again and her voice strengthened. "That's what you've been observing in me lately. How could you help but observe it? That's all right. I'm not thin-skinned anymore. Can't afford to be thin-skinned anymore. But, Brick?" She waited. "Brick?"

"Did you say something?"

"I was going to say something. That I get...lonely. Very."

Flash shrugged. "Everybody gets that."

"Living with someone you love can be lonelier than living entirely alone, if the one that you love doesn't love you."

They stared at each other for a long minute, then Flash limped to the side of the stage. "Would you like to live alone, Maggie?"

"Very good!" The drama teacher clapped his hands and the pair on stage stopped. "Downstage, you two. Have a seat." Flash and MJ walked to the front of the stage where MJ sank down cross-legged and Flash hung his feet down over the edge. "Have you two been spending time together?"

MJ shrugged a shoulder. "Not alone, but we did watch the movie and hang out a bit at practice. It's hard to find time."

"Don't worry too much about it. I can feel the distance between you. There's an unspoken tension that's palpable. What I can't feel is any sense of history. Remember, you've known each other most of your lives. You've learned to tolerate each other and are familiar enough to be able to predict each other's moves. You're like an elderly couple married sixty years in your twenty-something bodies. Mary Jane, what is Maggie feeling when she thinks of her husband?"

"She's totally in love with him. She's not complete without him and is afraid she's going to lose him because she's not good enough. She's willing to do or be anything he wants to keep him."

"Exactly! And Brick?"

Flash shook his head. "He's done what everyone expects him to do his whole life, including marrying Maggie, and never thought about what he wants and he's just realizing that. So he's caught up in feeling lost and isn't even considering Maggie as a factor. If he could give up everything and start over, he would."

"Excellent. Can either of you relate to your characters?" They both nodded. "And how's the dialogue coming along?"

"I've been listening to that line-reading recording you gave me while I run. That's been great! I think I know most of it." Flash offered.

"I could use some help on a couple of scenes. But I think I know eighty percent."

"If you can work together on that, I'd like you to have it down well enough to jump in on any scene in two weeks. We'll be starting dress rehearsal then. Very nice work, you two. You're going to make this a success!" He turned to the rest of the class. "Class dismissed! Bring old clothes from now on; we'll be working on the set starting Wednesday! Great work, everybody!"

Flash looked at MJ. "No practice or game tomorrow; want to get together after school?"

MJ gave him a sideways glance. "I don't want to get together with you ever. Wherever we meet, it's got to be in public."

Flash's face darkened. "Why in public? You think I'm a threat?"

"You hurt my friend. Damn right I think you're a threat."

"Is Mr. Kim's Grocery in Koreatown public enough for you? We can study while I work."

"Sure. Text me when you're there. I'll need directions." MJ jumped of the stage and started for the door.

"Mary Jane." Flash called after her. She didn't turn around.

 

The fourth track bell rang as Peter settled into his seat. In History, he sat directly in front of Flash, who currently had his earbuds in and his head resting on his folded arms on his desk, eyes closed. He either fell asleep very quickly or had taken a nap there during lunch. Peter fought back an urge to tip the boy's desk over; that was something said bully would do. He instead hoped Flash wouldn't wake up when class started and he would get a front row seat to another Mr. Lee Ream Fest. Unfortunately, as the classroom filled with noise, Flash stirred and his eyes opened. More unfortunately, Peter was still standing beside his desk staring at him. "You gonna freak out on me again, freak?" Flash growled and dug in his backpack, producing a candy bar with Korean writing on the wrapper.

Peter didn't answer and took his seat at his desk. He was pretty confused about the weekend's ordeal. He had heard Liz's story about Flash's aggressive insistence right from her, yet the most popular story going around school left out those details. Liz had apparently texted the cheerleading squad and commanded them to steer clear of Flash because he was a jerk, not because he was a criminal. Wouldn't she let her girlfriends know if he was dangerous? Maybe not. Some girls are attracted to that and may then get themselves in a bad situation. The other detail that puzzled Peter was Liz's defense of Flash being drunk and not malicious. For one thing, Peter didn't believe the two were mutually exclusive. For the other, he didn't remember Flash drinking at all, let alone to excess. In fact, Peter recalled that he had thought it odd that everyone around them was throwing beers back while Flash set his down and left it. Peter had seen a Flash at that party that was completely out of line with the Flash he usually heard about in the halls the day following the parties. He scratched his ear and turned around. Flash was finishing up his candy bar and staring blankly at the cover of his textbook. "Hey, Flash?"

The zoned-out boy crumpled the candy wrapper and stuffed it into his book bag. "What do you want?"

"How many beers does it take to get you drunk?"

Flash looked at him like he was a talking goat. "What?"

"How many beers does it take to get you drunk?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

Peter shrugged. "I'm doing a study for science. I'm asking a bunch of people."

"Well you're not asking me. Leave me alone." He whipped open his textbook angrily.

"I need to ask as many people as I can that are the same size and would have an answer. Come on. How many did you have at Liz's party? You went to lay down because you were drunk, right?"

Flash looked Peter in the eye for long minutes, studying the smaller boy. "I don't know. Four or five is too many, I suppose. I don't drink much. I didn't drink at the party." He answered slowly.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Everyone else is saying you did. I saw Liz hand you a beer. How many did you have before that?"

Flash closed his book and leaned back in his chair. "Everyone else is saying a lot of things that aren't true today. What do you know about it?"

"You're not answering the question."

"You're not asking the right one. I didn't drink at that party. I went to sleep because I was tired, like I told you. Not because I was drunk. I only got there two minutes before you did."

Peter furrowed his brow and turned around. Something just wasn't right!

"Alright, boys and girls, let's talk some more about The Great War. Who would like to read at paragraph two?" Mr. Lee started the class.

Peter opened his textbook and felt Flash suddenly stand up and walk out of the room, backpack in hand. He raised his hand. "I'll read, Mr. Lee."

"Mr. Parker! Astonishing. Please, sir."

Peter started in his clearest voice. "The state of America was very different than that of Europe at the onset of World War One..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I love Paul Newman, the movie's dialogue isn't as good as the stage production, so the play is what I used. Just a little Flash/Liz wink. Thanks for the kudos and comments!


	10. Cat On A Hot Tin Roof

\+ you free? flash

= @4

= gettin hair done after school

\+ k. I'm at work all night so. flash

= send me a google maps

= no id where u r

\+ sent. uok gettin here? flash

= thx yep c u

 

Flash put his phone back in his pocket and continued sweeping the floor. He'd come in at 6:30 that morning, when he'd usually be entering the weight room at school, and told the Kims he'd be there all day and that they should take a day off. It turned out their oldest son was in a debate competition upstate and they were delighted to be able to attend. Mrs. Kim, usually fairly inexpressive, even kissed his hand in thanks. They never asked him why he had such an odd schedule and Flash appreciated not having to lie about skipping school or the injuries he received from sports and his father. Despite his wealth of faults, Flash rarely lied and was always dreadful when he did. He became paranoid, nervous, and sick to his stomach. It was also too difficult to keep track of lies. His uncle had taught him the best way was to expound the truth and omit the details. His uncle taught him a lot of worse things than that, Flash remembered and shuddered.

 

Peter shut his locker and peered down the hall. As far as he could tell, Flash hadn't come to school today. He didn't know how the guy wasn't expelled yet, despite his athleticism. How much can one guy get away with?

"Hey, Tiger!" MJ came up behind him and kissed his cheek while grabbing on to his shoulders.

Peter blushed. "Hi, MJ. Say, how's Liz? I haven't seen her yet today."

MJ scrunched her nose and shrugged. "You know. I don't think she likes feeling vulnerable. She seems to be overcompensating by acting like nothing happened and pushing people around."

"You haven't seen Flash, have you?"

"No. But I rarely see him on A-days. Why?"

"Me neither. He left sixth track early yesterday and skipped Gym. I don't think he came to school today."

"He texted me earlier and said he's at work tonight. I'm meeting him there around 4:00. Want to punch him out?" She sounded hopeful.

"I don't know. Mostly, yeah. There's just something weird about him. Like he doesn't know if he wants to be a jerk or your buddy."

MJ looked skeptical. "I guess I've only known him for a few weeks, but he pretty much seems like a jerk to me. I know I wouldn't want to be alone with him."

"Isn't he in Drama with you? That seems like a pretty unjocklike thing to do."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. But it's not like we're doing a musical. He's playing a woman-hating, alcoholic, aging jock. We should call him the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come."

"Yeek." Peter grimaced. "Want me to come with you tonight? What are you meeting with him for, anyway?"

"We're running lines for the play. And yes! I would really appreciate you coming along. Do you mind?"

He shook his head. "No, it'd make me feel better actually. Come get me when you get home and we'll catch the bus together."

"Great! Thank you, Peter. See ya!" She wiggled her fingers at him in a wave and ran off down the hall to her next class. Peter took his phone out of his pocket and texted Aunt May to let her know he wouldn't be home for supper. She'd understand.

 

Flash heard the door open and set down the case of noodles he was carrying. "Be right there!" He called on his way up the aisle. The store wasn't large, but the aisles were very narrow and difficult to see around. He neared the front to see Mary Jane and Peter entering. "What's he, your bodyguard?"

MJ's eyes flashed. "I don't have to be here. I can work on my lines with Peter."

"I like your haircut. It looks good on you." Flash noticed her hair that now barely brushed her shoulders and tried to make up for his thoughtless greeting.

"Thanks. Peter's offered to follow along with the script to make sure we're on track."

Flash nodded at him. "Thanks, man, that's great."  
Peter didn't respond. "Well, where do you want to start? Act Two?"

MJ shook her head. "No, let's just start from the beginning."

"I'd rather not. We've done that more than anything in class. How about after Big Mama leaves the room? We don't get that far."

"Okay. Works for me. Peter, page sixteen. Who are you? I am Maggie the Cat!"

Flash jumped right into the scene. "Has Big Mama gone?"

"She's gone." She waited for Flash to start whistling softly before continuing hesitantly. "You know, our sex life didn't just peter out in the usual way. It was cut off short, long before the natural time for it to, and it's going to revive again, just as sudden as that. I'm confident of it. That's what I'm keeping myself attractive for. For the time when you'll see me again like other men see me. Yes, like other men see me. They still see me, Brick, and they like what they see. Uh-huh. Some of them would give their...look, Brick! How high my body stays on me! Nothing has fallen on me, not a fraction. Other men still want me. My face looks strained, sometimes, but I've kept my figure as well as you've kept yours, and men admire it. I still turn heads on the street." Her voice turned desperate. "Why, last week in Memphis, everywhere that I went men's eyes burned holes in my clothes. At the country club and in restaurants and department stores, there wasn't a man I met or walked by that didn't just eat me up with his eyes and turn around when I passed him and look back at me. Why, at Alice's party for her New York cousins, the best looking man in the crowd followed me upstairs and tried to force his way in the powder room with me, followed me to the door and tried to force his way in!" Her voice trembled and almost faltered.

Flash had never noticed how touchy the play's subject matter was. "Why didn't you let him, Maggie?"

"Because I'm not that common, for one thing. Not that I wasn't almost tempted to. You like to know who it was? It was Sonny Boy Maxwell, that's who!"

"Oh, yeah, Sonny Boy Maxwell. He was a good end-runner, but had a little injury to his back and had to quit."

"He has no injury now and has no wife and still has a lech for me!"

"I see no reason to lock him out of a powder room in that case."

"And have someone catch me at it? I'm not that stupid. Oh, I might some time cheat on you with someone, since you're so insultingly eager to have me do it! But if I do, you can be damned sure it will be in a place and a time where no one but me and the man could possibly know. Because I'm not going to give you any excuse to divorce me for being unfaithful or anything else..."

Flash interrupted her. "Maggie, I wouldn't divorce you for being unfaithful or anything else. Don't you know that? Hell, I'd be relieved to know that you'd found yourself a lover."

"Well, I'm taking no chances. No, I'd rather stay on this hot tin roof."

"A hot tin roof's an uncomfortable place to stay on."

"Yeah, but I can stay on it just as long as I have to."

"You could leave me, Maggie." Flash challenged.

"Don't want to and will not! Besides, if I did..." She paused. "Peter?"

Peter was following along the script with wide eyes. "...you don't have a cent to pay for it but what you get from Big Daddy and he's dying of cancer." He fed her.

"Thank you." She repeated her lines.

"Big Mama just said he wasn't, that the report was okay." Flash sounded shocked.

"That's what she thinks because she got the same story that they gave Big Daddy. And was just as taken in by it as he was, poor ole things... But tonight they're going to tell her the truth about it. When Big Daddy goes to bed, they're going to tell her that he is dying of cancer. It's malignant and it's terminal."

Flash paused. "Does Big Daddy know it?"

"Hell, do they ever know it? Nobody says, 'You're dying.' You have to fool them. They have to fool themselves."

"Why?"

"Why? Because human beings dream of life everlasting, that's the reason! But most of them want it on earth and not in heaven." She ignores Flash's sharp laugh. "Well, that's how it is, anyhow. Where did I put down my cigarette? Don't want to burn up the home-place, at least not with Mae and Gooper and their five monsters in it!" She picked up a pen from the counter and pretended it was a cigarette. "So this is Big Daddy's last birthday. And Mae and Gooper, they know it, oh, they know it, all right. They got the first information from the Ochsner Clinic. That's why they rushed down here with their no-neck monsters. Because... Do you know something? Big Daddy's made no will? Big Daddy's never made out any will in his life, and so this campaign's afoot to impress him, forcibly as possible, with the fact that you drink and I've borne no children!" She ignores an inaudible interruption from Flash. "You know, I'm fond of Big Daddy, I am genuinely fond of that old man, I really am, you know."

"Yes, I know you are." Flash's voice was softer than she'd ever heard.

"I've always sort of admired him in spite of his coarseness, his four-letter words and so forth. Because Big Daddy is what he is, and he makes no bones about it. He hasn't turned gentleman farmer, he's still a Mississippi red neck, as much of a red neck as he must have been when he was just overseer here on the old Jack Straw and Peter Ochello place. But he got hold of it and built it into the biggest and finest plantation in the Delta. I've always liked Big Daddy. Well, this is Big Daddy's last birthday. I'm sorry about it. But I'm facing the facts. It takes money to take care of a drinker and that's the office that I've been elected to lately."

"You don't have to take care of me."

"Yes, I do. Two people in the same boat have got to take care of each other. At least you want money to buy more Echo Spring when this supply is exhausted, or will you be satisfied with a ten-cent beer? Mae and Gooper are planning to freeze us out of Big Daddy's estate because you drink and I'm childless. But we can defeat that plan. We're going to defeat that plan! Brick, you know, I've been so damn disgustingly poor all my life. That's the truth, Brick!" She sounded indignant.

"I'm not saying it isn't." Flash was defensive.

"Always had to suck up to people I couldn't stand because they had money and I was poor as Job's turkey. You don't know what that's like. Well, I'll tell you, it's like you would feel a thousand miles away from Echo Spring and had to get back to it on that broken ankle...without a crutch! That's how it feels to be as poor as Job's turkey and have to suck up to relatives that you hated because they had money and all you had was a bunch of hand-me-down clothes and a few old moldy three percent government bonds. My daddy loved his liquor, he fell in love with his liquor the way you've fallen in love with Echo Spring, and my poor Mama, having to maintain some semblance of social position, to keep appearances up, on an income of one hundred and fifty dollars a month on those old government bonds! When I came out, the year that I made my debut, I had just two evening dresses! One Mother made me from a pattern in Vogue, the other a hand-me-down from a snotty rich cousin I hated! The dress that I married you in was my grandmother's wedding gown...so that's why I'm like a cat on a hot tin roof!"

Peter read an off-stage voice. "Hiya, Mister Brick, how you feeling?"

MJ continued. "You can be young without money, but you can't be old without it. You've got to be old with money because to be old without it is just too awful, you've got to be one or the other, either young or with money; you can't be old and without it. That's the truth, Brick. Well, now I'm dressed, I'm all dressed, there's nothing else for me to do." Her voice drifted. "I'm dressed, all dressed, nothing else for me to do. I know when I made my mistake. What am I...? Oh! My bracelets..." MJ mimed putting bracelets on her wrists. "I've thought a whole lot about it and now I know when I made my mistake. Yes, I made my mistake when I told you the truth about that thing with Skipper. Never should have confessed it, a fatal error, telling you about that thing with Skipper."

"Maggie, shut up about Skipper. I mean it, Maggie; you got to shut up about Skipper." Flash said quietly but firmly.

"You ought to understand that Skipper and I..."

"You don't think I'm serious, Maggie? You're fooled by the fact that I am saying this quiet? Look, Maggie. What you're doing is a dangerous thing to do. You're, you're, you're fooling with something that nobody ought to fool with." He stuttered and grew tense.

"This time I'm going to finish what I have to say to you. Skipper and I made love, if love you could call it, because it made both of us feel a little bit closer to you. You see, you son of a bitch, you asked too much of people, of me, of him, of all the unlucky poor damned sons of bitches that happen to love you, and there was a whole pack of them, yes, there was a pack of them besides me and Skipper, you asked too damn much of people that loved you, you...superior creature...you godlike being! And so we made love to each other to dream it was you, both of us! Yes, yes, yes! Truth, truth! What's so awful about it? I like it, I think the truth is, yeah! I shouldn't have told you..."

Flash clutched his head. "It was Skipper that told me about it. Not you, Maggie."

"I told you!"

"After he told me!" Flash shouted.

"What does it matter who...?"

"Little girl! Hey, little girl!"

Peter put on a little girl's voice. "What, Uncle Brick?"

"Tell the folks to come up! Bring everybody upstairs!"

"I can't stop myself! I'd go on telling you this in front of them all, if I had to!" MJ continued.

"Little girl! Go on, go on, will you? Do what I told you, call them!"

"Because it's got to be told and you, you, you never let me!" MJ's voice quivered. "It was one of those beautiful, ideal things they tell about in the Greek legends, it couldn't be anything else, you being you, and that's what made it so sad, that's what made it so awful, because it was love that never could be carried through to anything satisfying or even talked about plainly. Brick, I tell you, you got to believe me, Brick, I do understand all about it! I...I think it was...noble! Can't you tell I'm sincere when I say I respect it? My only point, the only point that I'm making, is life has got to be allowed to continue even after the dream of life is...all...over..." She paused. "Why, I remember when we double-dated at college, Gladys Fitzgerald and I and you and Skipper. It was more like a date between you and Skipper. Gladys and I were just sort of tagging along as if it was necessary to chaperone you. To make a good public impression..."

Flash was breathing heavy. "Maggie, you want me to hit you with this crutch? Don't you know I could kill you with this crutch?"

"Good Lord, man, do you think I'd care if you did?"

"One man has one great good true thing in his life. One great good thing which is true. I had friendship with Skipper. You are naming it dirty!"

"I'm not naming it dirty! I am naming it clean!"

Flash shook his head. "Not love with you, Maggie, but friendship with Skipper was that one great true thing, and you are naming it dirty!"

"Then you haven't been listening, not understood what I'm saying! I'm naming it so damn clean that it killed poor Skipper! You two had something that had to be kept on ice, yes, incorruptible, yes, and death was the only icebox where you could keep it..."

"I married you, Maggie. Why would I marry you, Maggie, if I was..."

"And...that's where I get lost." MJ smiled apologetically at Flash. "Sorry. I thought I had it."

"Are you kidding? You have ninety percent of that whole thing. That's amazing!"

"It really is!" Peter was almost jumping up and down. "How do you guys do that?!"

"No kidding, Mary Jane, you're going to really turn this little play into a thing!" Flash winked at her and MJ laughed in spite of herself.

"I hope we can get through a lot of this in class tomorrow. You are going to be there, right?"

Flash's face fell. "I'll try. It's hard to say."

"Flash. Don't be the jerk I think you are. Be the hero." MJ glared.

"Okay, Mary Jane, I'll be in Drama tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Tennessee Williams for writing an amazing play! This is the dialogue from my script I kept from high school. Sure made writing this chapter easier anyway!


	11. After Hours

"Okay, class, who's first? Jenny?" Ms. Hartche started Wednesday's English class by jumping right into the homework assignments. Flash reached into his backpack and pulled out his notebook. He'd actually done the assignment at work the day before. He saw Peter scribbling furiously in his own notebook. Apparently, the better student hadn't been as successful this time. "Well done, Jenny, thank you. Mr. Thompson? You look ready." She motioned to the podium at the front of the room.

"Sure." Flash agreed, rising to his feet and made his way to the front. "My poet is Robert Frost. He was born in San Fransisco in 1874, but moved to Massachusetts when he was eleven after his father died from tuberculosis. He lived with his mother and younger sister and got into poetry in high school. That's probably why English teachers love him." He winked at Ms. Hartch, who smiled back. "He moved around the northeast quite a bit and when he got married, he and his wife moved to England for a few years. When he moved back to America, he became a top selling writer and eventually the U. S. Poet Laureate, which is like the official poet of the nation. It's a position granted by the head librarian at the Library of Congress. He even read a poem at JFK's inauguration. The poem I thought speaks most to him is called Acquainted With The Night." He cleared his throat. "I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain- and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane. I have passed by the watchman on his beat and dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain. I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet when far away an interrupted cry came over houses from another street, but not to call me back or say good-by; and further still at an unearthly height, one luminary clock against the sky proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night."

"Why do you think that poem was representative of RF's life?" Ms. Hartche asked.

"Well, he writes a lot about things he sees while out walking, so I think he must have roamed around a lot and probably at odd hours, since he writes about this night walk that was probably more than one. He noticed things most people walk past and thought a lot about the details of the things he noticed."

"Very good, Flash, thank you. Taylor?"

Flash left his papers on the podium and sat back down. He'd gotten a book of Robert Frost poems from the library Monday and read it at work. Luckily, the poems were short and easy to understand. He wondered if Ms. Hartche did that on purpose to make it easier for him. He wouldn't put it past her. A buzz came from his pocket and he pulled out his phone and glanced at it.

= r u here?

Mary Jane. His promise to her to be in Drama today was actually the only reason he was here.

\+ didn't i tell you i'd be here? ;-) flash

He really didn't want to be. Sometimes he just had to get away from everything. He toyed with the idea of packing a bag and taking a bus to who cares where, but even he knew that was a stupid idea. Either his father would find him, his uncle would find him, or he'd have to hide and look over his shoulder the rest of his life. 

= ya cuz ur so dependable

He didn't want to throw his life away. Not that he has much of a life to look forward to. 

\+ 4 my friends i am. flash

In eighth grade, they learned state mottos. South Carolina's is 'While I breathe, I hope.' Flash had mulled that over for weeks until he'd convinced himself he wanted to run away to that state and start a life of his own. Of course, even then he knew that was a stupid idea. Who moves to a state because of their motto?

= o u have friends? U haven't screwed them all over yet?

Flash turned his phone off and dropped it into his backpack. He didn't need this. He felt his anger at Liz flare up again. There were at least six different versions of Saturday night's events circulating around school and none of them were accurate. Only two people knew what really happened and neither one of them was telling. 

The bell rang and students jumped to their feet. "Good luck in Drama." Peter mumbled to Flash as he zipped up his backpack.

"I'll need it. Mary Jane has her claws out." 

"You have to understand her position. Liz is her friend."

"She was my friend, too, for a while. You see how that ended." He looked Peter in the eye as he walked past him. Peter didn't respond.

 

Flash entered the theater to find it alive with activity. Mr. Farrow and MJ were talking in front of the stage. They saw him and waved him over.

"I had hoped to work on the second act today, but Missy and Evan are both gone, so we're going to jump ahead to your next duet while the rest of the class works on the stage construction. Can you work in chaos?"

"I've got no problem with it." MJ offered.

"Yeah, that's fine." Flash agreed. He jumped up onto the stage and held out a hand to help MJ up. She looked around, but seeing the stairs blocked off, accepted his help and stood beside him.

"Alright, let's start after Maggie makes her pregnancy announcement and the rest of the cast leaves the stage. Yes?" Both students nodded. "Good! Stay where you are, say the bar is there for now. Go!" Mr. Farrow made his way to the third row and sat down a few seats in, never taking his eyes off the duo.

MJ laid her hand on Flash's forearm. "Thank you for...keeping still."

"OK, Maggie." Flash played with an invisible scotch glass.

"It was gallant of you to save my face!"

Flash paused. "It hasn't happened yet." He sounded sullen.

"What?"

"The click..."

"The click in your head that makes you peaceful, honey?"

"Uh-huh. It hasn't happened. I've got to make it happen before I can sleep..."

MJ looked empathetic. "I...know what you...mean..."

"Give me that pillow in the big chair, Maggie."

"I'll put it on the bed for you."

"No, put it on the sofa, where I sleep."

MJ shook her head sadly. "Not tonight, Brick."

"I want it on the sofa. That's where I sleep." Flash mimed pouring himself three shots and throwing them back in quick succession. "There!"

"What?"

"The click..."

"Brick, I used to think that you were stronger than me and I didn't want to be overpowered by you. But now, since you've taken to liquor, you know what? I guess it's bad, but now I'm stronger than you and I can love you more truly! Don't move that pillow. I'll move it right back if you do! Brick? I really have been to a doctor and I know what to do and, Brick? This is my time by the calendar to conceive!"

"Yes, I understand, Maggie. But how are you going to conceive a child by a man in love with his liquor?"

"By locking his liquor up and making him satisfy my desire before I unlock it!" MJ sounded smug.

"Is that what you've done, Maggie?"

"Look and see. That cabinet's mighty empty compared to before!"

"Well, I'll be a son of a..." Flash reaches for a broom to use in place of a crutch, but MJ grabs it first and tosses it offstage.

"And so tonight we're going to make the lie true, and when that's done, I'll bring the liquor back here and we'll get drunk together, here, tonight, in this place that death has come into." She looked Flash determinedly in the eye. "What do you say?"

"I don't say anything. I guess there's nothing to say." He sounded defeated.

"Oh, you weak people, you weak, beautiful people! Who give up. What you want is someone to...take hold of you..." She took Flash's hand. "Gently, gently, with love! And...I do love you, Brick, I do!"

Flash looked down and away from her. "Wouldn't it be funny if that was true?"

"Yes!" Mr. Farrow stood up, clapping. "Just wonderful, you two!" They smiled at each other. "I'm so proud of the way you've tackled the dialogue and the depth you're bringing to the characters. Just wonderful."

MJ chewed her bottom lip. "Thank you, Mr. Farrow."

Flash spoke up. "On A-days, I have Study Hall fourth track and Algebra fifth. Mary Jane has Study Hall fifth track. If you could get the office to switch my last two tracks on A-days, we'd have more time to work on dialogue together." MJ nodded her head in agreement.

"I'll see what I can do." Mr. Farrow agreed. He left them to check on the status of the set construction.

Flash looked at MJ hesitatingly. "Ready for the game tonight?"

She shrugged. "I guess. Our practices have been particularly militant this week, so we should be pretty sharp."

"Good. We'll need all the support we can get for this one. These guys are tough. And Friday, we're in the Kitchen, so we don't want to get too beat up tonight."

"I was just thinking. Maybe you should stop trying to talk to me unless we're working on the play. You make me uncomfortable."

Flash nodded sadly. "Okay, if that's what you want. I was hoping we could be friends, though."

"Well, you ruined that. Maybe you should talk to the counselor, Flash, and get some help. The way you treat people isn't okay."

"You're right." He started to say something else, but stopped himself. He didn't want Mary Jane to stop talking to him completely. The bell rang and the class cheered as they rushed to get to the lunch room first.

 

 

The bleachers were full of screaming students from both schools. Peter walked along the sidelines, taking pictures of the crowd, cheerleaders, and players. He loved his new camera. It had a much better focus than his last and built-in filters to play around with. He wasn't a big sports fan, but had picked up on the rules after attending every game to take pictures for the school paper. Peter figured if he ever played a sport, it would be basketball, but if he had to pick one to watch, it was baseball. It seemed to be the most cerebral of them all. He also understood the nostalgia factor of it, since Uncle Ben used to take him to a Mets game every year. They never saw the team win a game in person, but they never gave up hoping, either. Peter suddenly realized he hadn't been to a game since his uncle was killed. He lowered his hands and clutched his camera to his chest.

"Bring it in, men!" Coach's thundering voice shook Peter from his thoughts and he again raised his camera to take pictures of the huddle. "King Kong, nice blocking. Thompson, good call, too bad the REST of your TEAM didn't read the PLAYBOOK!!!!"

Peter smirked and snapped a shot of the team hanging their heads, faces red. He noticed Flash holding his left side. He'd taken a few direct hits in the game, despite his deftness. Knowing the pain of bruised or broken ribs all too well, thanks to his masked adventures, he sympathized. Slightly. Flash had doled out his share of pain; he probably deserved some in return.

"Get this one over the line, and go home to your stuffed animals. Screw it up, and you can plan on camping here tonight because you'll be staying until three in the morning running drills. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach!" The team shouted in unison.

"Alright, guys. Make a wall, I'll carry it through. Ignore the fakes." Flash clapped his hands once and led the team back onto the field.

Peter followed Flash through his lens. There was the hike, the fake to Perkins, another fake to Waters, and then he was gone. The quarterback flew past the pairs of linesmen and over the end zone. Peter quickly shifted his lens around to the crowd, getting some reaction shots, and then to the cheerleaders for their celebration. Midtown High wins again. Peter snapped the lenscap on his camera, smiled, and ran off before anyone could miss him. Spidey Time!

 

 

Three hours later, Peter returned to Midtown High. The busses were already gone, but the gym door was standing open and a light shone out. He threw his jeans, jacket, and shoes on over his suit and stepped into the gym. He could hear Coach shouting from the locker room. He crept forward to hear better.

"FRIENDS DON'T WIN TROPHIES! TEAMS WIN TROPHIES! I WANT TROPHIES! YOU'RE THROWING THIS SEASON AWAY! WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KIND OF FAIRY?! MAN UP, THOMPSON!"

Peter paused. His bully is getting reamed out big time. Hmmm...to spy or not to spy? Dumb question! Peter snuck as close to the door as he could and peeked around the corner. He shot a web to the corner mirror, used to make sure there are no shenanigans going on in between the rows of lockers, and angled it so he had a view of the action. Flash sat, still in uniform, on a bench with Coach towering over him.

"YOU HAVE A COMMITMENT TO THIS TEAM AND THIS SCHOOL AND NO PANSY ASS THEATER CRAP IS GETTING IN THE WAY! YOU HEAR ME?! GROW A PAIR OF BALLS AND TELL YOUR BOYFRIEND TO GET HIS SHIT DONE IN CLASS! OR BETTER YET, DROP IT!!!!!" Coach picked Flash's helmet up off the bench and threw it just past the boy's head and into the lockers. He stormed out of the locker room and Peter squeezed behind the wall of recessed bleachers to hide. When the lights turned off and the gym door was closed and locked, he dared to peek at the mirror again. Flash hadn't moved position much, except to hold his head in his hands. Was he crying? No. He lifted his head, took a deep breath, and stood, face blank. When he pulled his jersey off and started to remove his shoulder pads, Peter entered the room and cleared his throat.

Flash turned and looked at him questioningly. "Why are you here?"

"I wanted to get those pictures ready for the paper tomorrow. I was on my way out and the lights all turned off. I saw this one from the hall." Peter lied.

"Well, you know you're stuck here now, right? Unless the security team decides to do a late night walk through? Everything is locked up." He pulled the shoulder pads off and turned around to reach for a towel. Peter gasped. There was an undeniably clear outline of a boot print stamped on Flash's left lat, just below his shoulder blade.

"Flash, what happened to your back?!"

Flash paused briefly. "What are you talking about? I just got done with a pretty rough game." He quickly grabbed his shirt out of his locker and threw it on, but not without wincing a bit.

"Yeah, but that's a boot print. And it's a couple of days old."

Flash shrugged. "It's probably from the game the other night. You get tackled, you get stepped on. You wouldn't understand."

Peter was puzzled. "Okay. Does it hurt? I noticed you were favoring your left side tonight."

Flash looked undecided on whether to answer. "I might have bruised a rib. Don't tell anyone. We're playing Hell's Kitchen in a couple of days and I need to be in it. We need to win this one."

"Right. Kill yourself for a trophy, right? Hope it's worth it."

"What do you know about it? You don't do team things, remember? You don't have other people relying on you."

Peter bit his tongue. "I'm on the paper. That's why I'm here late."

Flash chuckled. "That's why you're here til morning. Unless you know how to disable the alarm and bust the chains on the doors." He finished dressing and sat back down on the bench, smiling at Peter.

"Did Coach mean to lock you in here? Isn't that illegal?" Peter sounded slightly worried.

"Well, he's under the impression I don't need to be or shouldn't get to be anywhere else, so I guess. You think winning coaches need to worry about laws?"

"... Yes."

"So naive, Parker." He stood up. "You hungry?" Peter shrugged, then nodded. "Then let's go. You got the school all to yourself, Nerd Brain! This must be like your dream come true!" He led Peter out of the gym and back into the hall.

"Yeah, and I'm stuck here with my biggest bully. Just my Parker Luck." He said wryly. Flash laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the empty halls. Peter smiled despite himself. "Why aren't you freaking out at all? Has this happened to you before?"

"Yeah. There are worse things. We get food, beds in the nurse's station, showers in the morning... Better than home." His step stuttered. "No one here to yell at you or bug you about your day. You know?"

"I don't know. I heard Coach yelling. Was that at you?"

"Oh. Yeah. He found out I'm in the play. One of the shows is on a Saturday. I have to choose between the play or the football game that day."

"What are you going to do?"

"I skip the game, I get kicked off the team. I skip the play, I fail the class and get kicked off the team. I skip the game, I let Kong down. I skip the play, I let Mary Jane down. I skip the game, everyone but me cares. I skip the play, not as many people care."

"Sounds like you know what you're doing." Peter chuckled nervously.

"Yep. No sweat, man." He fell silent and Peter felt compelled to fill the air.

"Aren't you going to miss football? You're so good at it!"

Pause. "You remember when your uncle and my dad made us paint the fence between our yards?"

"...no."

Flash looked at his former neighbor out of the corner of his eye. "Well, they did. I didn't mind it so much, it was something physical to do outside. But you hated it! You were good at it though, you even cleaned up all the paint runs I let fall through the slats and I didn't have any from you on my side. Your uncle came out and told you what a good job you were doing and you just whined and begged to be done. He started calling us Tom and Huck after that, remember?"

"I don't remember any of that." Peter confessed quietly.

"Well, the point is you were really good at it but you didn't like it at all."

"Wait. You don't like football?!"

"I mean, it's fine. But out of all the sports I play, it's my least favorite. I'd like it more if I could play wide receiver. Maybe." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll be playing it through college either way. Here, lunch is on me; I owe you a few." He laughed and pushed through the kitchen doors.

Peter had never been in the kitchen, but Flash seemed to know his way around. He grabbed a couple of apples, four slices of bread, six cartons of milk, and dug into a cabinet for peanut butter and jelly. "Maybe you should go to culinary school instead." Peter joked. Flash didn't respond, but Peter saw him smirk before grabbing a knife and making the sandwiches. They ate sitting on the serving counter, legs swinging back and forth through the space below. Peter stole quick glances at his fellow prisoner, but it seemed the length of the day and exertion of the game had caught up to the comfortably silent boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually not a huge Robert Frost fan, but the poems of his I do like, I REALLY like. This is one of them.


	12. As Fast As You Can

"Parker, hey Parker, wake up." Peter was jarred awake by his body being shaken roughly. Who was that? "Come on, man. Rise and shine." He cracked his eyes open and saw Flash Thompson's smiling face beaming down at him. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty!" The jock smiled wider.

"Ugh. What time is it? Where are we?"

Flash laughed. "Not a morning person. Good to know. We're in the nurse's station, remember? It's 5:30."

"Five... Why would you wake me up so early?!" Peter sat up on the cot and rubbed the back of his neck. "School doesn't even open until 7:30."

"Which means the security team shows up at 6:30. They let me in to use the weight room. Custodial staff and teachers start showing up at 7:00. We have to be hidden before anyone gets here."

"Okay..."

"I'm going running. You can nap in the locker room until I get back. I'll wake you then. It's the last place they check."

"Where you gonna run, the gym? Maybe I'll join you."

Flash cocked an eyebrow. "You think you can keep up? I run ten miles in an hour."

"I can try. I don't suck at running, you know."

"No, not anymore." Flash looked thoughtful. "Good thing you grew out of your asthma last year, huh?"

"...um, yeah! Yeah, I suppose that's what happened..."

Flash shrugged. "It's not that unusual. Well, come on. Make your bed."

"Ugh." Peter groaned and obeyed Flash's order. "Do you always get up this early?"

"Usually. I run ten miles in the morning and fifteen at night. Takes an hour and an hour and a half. Sometimes things come up." He opened the door and entered the hallway, not checking to see if Peter was keeping up. He led his classmate into the utility room.

"I thought we were going to the gym." Peter got a little nervous, despite his still-new powers. He and his bully and dark utility rooms did not mix well.

"Relax. This leads out." The taller boy climbed up a ladder attached to the far wall and pushed open a ceiling hatch that was hidden to anyone unaware of its existence. Light shone in from above and Flash climbed up onto the roof of the school.

Peter followed swiftly and Flash closed the hatch behind him. "Flash, are you telling me we could have left at any point last night? What about the alarms?"

"Alarms are on the doors and first floor windows. We could have gotten out here or any of the second floor windows, but why would you want to? We have it made in there!"

Peter was upset. "Because I have a nice comfortable bed in my nice comfortable house and my sweet little aunt makes me breakfast! I can't believe you didn't tell me I could leave!"

"Hey, you're the genius. Maybe you should have done some research." Flash was stretching, preparing for his run.

"I was supposed to research escape contingencies in the event I was ever locked inside the school late at night? Really?"

"Not just escape. If you can get out, you can get in. You could sneak in here every night and science away. You'd never have to leave! It'd be like your little science paradise and you'd eventually forget to shower and you'd start talking to yourself and eventually you'd go crazy and hole yourself up in there with your crazy little experiments until one day you become some kind of urban legend. The crazy scientist that haunts the halls of Midtown High! Mwa-ha-ha-ha!!!!"

Peter stared at him, unblinking, as Flash just smiled back. "I hate you. I want you to know that."

Flash clapped him on the shoulder, unfazed. "Let's go, dork!" He jogged to the side of the building and, grabbing the escape ladder's rail, swung himself over and down. Peter followed, perturbed and slightly amused.

"So where do you run?"

"Different routes every time. Let's just go to the Park today. Maybe we'll discover a dead body you can disect."

"Seriously, why did you tell me I was stuck there last night?" He was having no trouble keeping up with the all-star athlete.

"Well, I wasn't going to let you leave on your own, and I didn't really feel up to running back last night."

"I suppose I'm supposed to thank you for keeping me safe?" Peter asked sarcastically.

"I don't really care what you do. Let's pick it up a bit." He increased his pace and tried to keep slightly ahead of Peter.

Peter thought about asking more questions, but decided against it. He wasn't in the mood for a fight. They covered about five miles in silence when they heard a woman's scream.

"Over there!" Flash pointed and sped towards the sound.

Peter could see a woman sprawled out on the grass. She was wearing a stylish dress and high heels. Clearly not out running.

"Are you okay?" Flash slowed slightly as they approached.

"That way!" She pointed down the path. "He took my purse!"

"Parker, stay with her!" Flash called back and took off down the path, quickly disappearing from sight.

"Flash, wait!" Idiot. Peter stopped by the woman, who was crying. "Are you hurt?"

"My phone was in my purse. Can I use yours to call the police?" She held out her hand.

Peter glanced Flash's way, but there was no sign of them. "Sure." He handed her his phone. "Look, I should go after my friend."

"No, stay with me. Please." She placed her hand on his and his head tingled. What the-? "What are you...?" He jumped up and dashed after Flash. This was a set-up! "Flash!" He called and skidded to a stop as he rounded a corner and saw Flash wrestling with the purse-snatcher on the ground.

"Parker, grab his legs!" Flash had the guy in a half-nelson.

"They're working together." He explained and grabbed the guy's legs. "What's your game? Is she armed?"

"What?" Flash looked confused. He nodded to the purse laying on the ground beside them.

"She took my phone. She said she's calling the police, but I don't know...I have a bad feeling." The purse snatcher finally stopped struggling and the boys heard footsteps coming up fast behind them. Peter's Spider-sense helped him dodge the boot that swung towards his midsection, and then went flying into the side of Flash's head. Oops. He allowed the officer to push him down face-first onto the ground. He looked up to see a blue-eyed mountain of a man lift Flash off the purse-snatcher and slam him up against a tree. Peter felt sick.

"They attacked us! They pushed my wife down and took her purse. I tried to get away from them..."

"Shut up!" The mountainous officer thundered at the thief. "We know who you are, Pinto, and your girlfriend is already in cuffs."

"Then why are you restraining US?!" Peter asked incredulously.

"Curfew." A female voice replied behind him. "Curtis, let him up." The officer holding Peter did just that and the woman who just arrived introduced herself. "I'm Captain DeWolff. This is your phone?" She held up Peter's phone.

"Yes. May I have it back?" He noticed the big officer was still pressing Flash against the tree.

"We need to get prints off of it first. Then you may have it back. Thompson, let the idiot go." The officer let go of Flash and stood staring him down. Peter shuddered. "What were you boys thinking? He could have had a gun or knife on him! Why on earth would you chase a thug through Central Park?!"

Peter shrugged. "I guess it just seemed like the thing to do. Instinct, maybe?"

"Right. So it wasn't to impress the damsel in distress?" Peter saw Flash smirk out of the corner of his eye and shook his head. "Right. Where do you go to school?" DeWolff asked.

"Midtown Science High, Ma'am."

"And your name?"

"Peter Parker."

"And your name?" She turned to Flash.

"Eugene Thompson." The hulking officer answered for Flash. "This particular idiot is mine."

"Really." DeWolff walked over to the pair who now looked strikingly similar. "Are you trying to be a hero like your dad, kid?"

Flash paled slightly before his eyes narrowed and blazed. "These two queers were just looking for a romantic spot to park. Isn't that right, son?" Officer Thompson held the back of Flash's neck tight. "What did I tell you before? Keep your boyfriend out of the public eye. You want to screw around? Find a back alley somewhere, not the middle of freakin' New York City!"

"Classy, Thompson. Let the kid go. You boys get off to school. No more chasing criminals." Peter scoffed. "We'll get your phone back to you when the lab's done grabbing prints off of it. Should be before lunch."

"Tuesday." Officer Thompson muttered.

"On your way, Thompson." DeWolff silenced him.

"Mind if Curtis and I take these two back to school? We've been having some truancy issues with this one." He shoved Flash. Hard.

"Sure. Just get your 402's done today, will you?" She started back up the path.

"Yes, Captain." Officer Thompson replied. "Let's go, fags." He pushed the two students ahead of him while Officer Curtis led the purse-snatcher. When they got back to the 'victim', there was another officer waiting with her. "Anderson, you guys want the collar on this one?"

"What?!" Both Officers Anderson and Curtis exclaimed.

"Take care of the 402's, and it's all yours."

"Uh, yeah!" Anderson happily took both criminals and led them to his car. Curtis glared at his partner.

"What?" Officer Thompson feigned innocence. "You wanna be tied up in the office all day? Those two each have rap sheets as long as the island. We'll make up for it."

"It's about name recognition, Tank." Curtis was mad. "Those two have been terrorizing Central Park since June!"

"Look. Stick with me, you'll get your name in the paper yet." Officer Thompson slapped his partner on the back solidly.

"That's what you care about?" Peter spoke up. "Getting your name in the paper?"

"Aw, does Little Orphan Parker have something to say?" Officer Thompson mocked. Peter was taken aback. He noticed Flash's jaw clench and decided to stop talking. "I didn't think so. Get in the car." Officer Curtis opened the back door and both boys climbed in. "So this is why you didn't come home last night, huh? Coulda guessed. See, I don't have a problem with queers, Curtis. Lets him screw around without gettin' girls pregnant, ya know? What I have a PROBLEM with is this jackass stayin' out all night and not callin' so I sit home and worry. And then I get this call this mornin' and he's bein' an idiot prancin' through Central Park at all hours. Didja sleep there last night, too, idiot? Huh?"

Flash looked like he wasn't even listening, let alone about to answer. Peter spoke up. "We didn't sleep in the park." Flash's head whipped around to face Peter as his dad's gaze slowly made eye contact through the interior mirror.

"No?" He sounded too friendly. "Where did you sleep, sweetheart?"

"We didn't." Flash cut in. "There was a party. It lasted all night and we were just going to get some food before school."

The car screeched to a halt alongside the curb. Officer Thompson opened his door. "Call Conley." As Curtis reached for the radio, his partner opened the back door and grabbed Flash by the front of his shirt, dragging him out of the car. He slammed his son up against the car door, closing it again. "What did you just say to me? What did you say?" Peter heard a loud smack that he presumed to be Tank's hand against Flash's face. "You think I'm stupid? You think I don't know where you were? Louis called me, jackass. I know he locked you up in that school. How'd you get out? Huh?! How'd you get out, wise ass?" Another smack. "Don't you fuckin' lie to me, boy! You wanna see 18? Huh? Do ya?!" Smack, smack, smack. The door opened again and Flash tumbled onto the seat. Tank closed the door behind him and climbed back behind the steering wheel. "You get ahold of him?"

"Yeah," Curtis answered. "He'll be waiting for us at the school."

Peter glanced at Flash, who looked as though nothing had just happened, except a tremor running through his right arm. There was a trickle of blood seeping out of a small cut on the top of his ear lobe. Peter peeked up at Tank's left hand gripping the steering wheel and saw his wedding ring glisten in the rising sun. He then turned to Curtis, who seemed totally unfazed and unaware of what had just occurred. They pulled up in front of the school, where another Police car was parked. Both officers exited the vehicle and opened the back doors.

"You remember Conley, don't ya, boy?" Tank asked his son.

"Yes, sir." Flash replied clearly.

"Well, he's gonna be your walkin' buddy 'til season's over. You're in class or you're workin' out, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm goin' in with ya to tell your principal you're done with that gay-ass theater shit, too. Do your homo shit on your own time." He shoved Flash toward the school and motioned to Peter. "Parker, let's go. Don't think you're gettin' off scot-free." He put his solid muscle giant paw on Peter's shoulder and squeezed. "Find yourself another boyfriend, twink. I don't need you or your hippie aunt corrupting my boy." He growled in his ear.

Peter threw his hands up. "Oh my god! No one here is gay!"

"I am." Officer Curtis shrugged.

"Oh. Sorry. Well, I'm not and neither is Flash, so cut it out with your homophobic bullshit!" He tore himself away from Flash's father, disgusted.

Tank just laughed and pushed in through the school doors. It was just before 7:00 and teachers were just starting to arrive. Peter sidled up to Flash and whispered, "Are you okay?"

Flash shook his head and stared out the front door windows. "I should have kept running." He muttered mostly to himself. Peter thought maybe they both should have.

 

It was an A-day, which meant Peter and Flash didn't share any classes. They passed each other in the science wing after first track, but made no eye contact. Officer Conley was walking right behind Flash on his way to second track. He didn't even see Flash during lunch. The school seemed especially somber and quiet without Flash's energy, boisterous laughter, and loud voice calling out to various classmates in the halls. It was probably just Peter's imagination. Fifth track finally rolled around and Peter practically ran to MJ, who was studying at a small corner table. "Did you see Flash at all today?"

"No, thank god! Sweet, small favors from the scheduling gods!" She winked at Peter and then paused at the look on his face. "What?"

"Coach locked us in the school last night and we slept here and went running through Central Park this morning and there was a lady that was mugged but it turned out to be a set-up and Flash's father came and was really really pissed and pulled him out of Drama and now he has a truant officer following him around all day."

"What about Drama? Flash was pulled out of class?"

"Yeah. His dad doesn't want him in the class. It was awful, MJ. He was pushing him around and hit-"

"What about the play?! We start dress rehearsal tomorrow! Our first show is in two weeks! Does Mr. Farrow know?" MJ started frantically gathering up her things.

"I don't know. MJ, I think this is more important than that."

"What?! You know how hard I've been working on this! I knew he was gonna let me down!"

"It wasn't his choice. Wait, MJ, wait." He put his hand on hers and she paused. "Will you do something for me?"

"Now? I have to go talk to Mr. Farrow."

"Yeah, now. It'll only take a minute. Please." MJ sighed and nodded. "Will you text Flash? I don't think I should."

"Text him what? Thanks for nothing, jerk?" She pulled out her phone.

"No, pretend I didn't tell you anything. Just say hi, ask him to meet up."

"What? Ew. He knows I don't want to see him."

"Please. I just want to see if he's okay."

MJ looked into his worried eyes. "What's going on? Sit down. Okay."

= hey stud wat up l8r

They waited for a few minutes, but there was no response. "Try again." Peter urged.

= u + me = pizza? 2nite?

Still no response. "They probably took his phone away." Peter's shoulders fell. "Do you know where he lives?"

She shook her head. "Nope. We always met at my house or somewhere else. He works at that grocery store."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I don't think he'll be doing that anytime soon. His dad's a real jerk, man."

MJ shrugged. "Well, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say."

"Yeah, I guess so." Peter furrowed his brow. He was so lost in thought, he didn't notice MJ get up and leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That was harder to write than I thought it would be! Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks, and comments are welcomed!


	13. Double O Spider

Spider-Man crept along the roof of Midtown High until he came to a hatch. He paused, still uncertain of the no-roof-alarm theory. No Spidey-sense alerts, so he pulled up on the handle and dropped down into the utility room. He found his way to the door, opened it a crack, and peeked out into the hall. In the dark, the red power lights from the security cameras made them easy to spot and web up. Once that was done, Peter crept along the hall into the principal's office. The locks on the doors were all electronic, and easy enough for Peter to bypass with his own homemade decryptor. He opened up the bottom drawer in the file drawer built into the back wall of the principal's office and riffled through the the file he was looking for: Thompson, Eugene F. It was...substantial. 

Born Eugene Frederick Thompson, Jan 13, Victory Hospital, Queens, NY.

Father Harrison William Thompson, occupation NYPD.

Mother Rosalinda Thompson (nee Santoni), deceased.

Wait, what? How had Peter missed that?

Emergency contact W. Fisk, Relation godfather.

No. Way. Wilson Fisk the business tycoon? The one from Hell's Kitchen? Gotta look that up later.

Address 628 East 'E' Street, Forest Hills, Queens, NY.

Bingo! Peter was tempted to skim through the 4" thick file, but felt he'd intruded enough. With his address, Spider-Man could now make an innocent sweep of Flash's neighborhood and make sure it was clear of muggers and drug dealers and other incongruities. He closed the drawer and slipped back out into the hall. Flash had said the only alarms were on the first floor, so Peter decided to test it. He ran up the stairs to the math wing and entered the first classroom he came to. He opened one of the windows and crawled out, seemingly scot-free. Good tip, Flash.

 

Flash was sitting at the kitchen table, watching his dad pace back and forth across the room, arms flailing, beer sloshing from the bottle in his hand, and yelling so loud Flash knew half the neighborhood could hear him. He was driven home from football practice by Officer Conley, who proceeded to sit in his parked car in front of the house until Harrison got home. For the past two hours, Harrison had been yelling, and cursing, and drinking. Every once in a while, he'd pick up an object off the counter and throw it at his son to make sure he was listening. Flash was certainly hearing the abuse, but had stopped listening to any of his father's ramblings by the time he was twelve years old. It was never anything new, and never anything good. Flash was jolted back into the present by the toaster exploding against the wall clock above his head. Pieces of metal and plastic showered down onto the table, some of the pieces hitting the boy on the head.

"You have to fix that! You have to fix that, too! I work twelve-hour shifts to come home to you layin' around with your thumb up your ass and lettin' my damn house fall to shit! What the hell am I workin' for, huh? What the hell, you piece of shit?! What the fuck do you even do around here? I should ship you out to a work camp or put you on one of those farms where they work illegals to death. Maybe that'd teach you something, you lazy bum!"

Flash didn't even pick the pieces of clock off his arm. He didn't speak. Any movement would just make the situation worse. Sometimes no movement made it worse, as his father saw it as a sign of defiance, but the still-as-a-statue response had better odds. Not tonight. Flash closed his eyes and braced himself as his father jumped forward suddenly and back-handed him across the face. Wonder if that will bruise. He kept his eyes closed and heard his father open the fridge and grab another bottle of beer.

"That mess isn't gonna clean itself, asshole." Harrison slammed the fridge shut and took his beer into the living room where he plopped his hulking frame into a worn-out Lazy Boy recliner and turned on the TV.

Flash lifted himself from the table and sighed with relief. The empty beer bottle was sitting on the counter instead of broken over his head as he imagined it would be. The boy quietly opened the fridge and saw there were nine more bottles inside. He felt his stomach turn. He knew they'd all be consumed throughout the night and that he would not be getting much sleep. Again. His father usually worked the night shifts so that he could get in on the big busts, but the new captain had shifted him to days. That meant Harrison was home most nights, drinking and terrorizing his son. When Flash was allowed to go to bed, he'd lay awake, staring at the ceiling, fully clothed with shoes and everything in case he'd need to make a quick escape out the window. As the night wore on, his father would get up from his chair for another beer and then had a tendency to linger outside Flash's bedroom door before returning to the TV. With every trip, he'd linger a little longer until he either burst in and beat the crap out of Flash or go back and pass out in the chair. Flash couldn't even sneak out to sleep at the school or in the park or at the gym or Kong's, because Conley was out front watching for him. Flash sighed and starting sweeping the pieces of clock and toaster into the trash can. It was going to be a long night.

 

Spider-Man swung through Forest Hills via telephone poles and street lights. He felt out of place away from the city's skyscrapers. He spotted Flash's house as soon as he turned onto 'E' street. There was a police cruiser parked in front and another in the driveway. Flash's car was nowhere in sight. Peter settled on a light pole across the street and peered into the front window of the Thompson house. There were no curtains, and Officer Thompson was sprawled out on a ratty recliner, beer bottle in hand, watching TV. The only other light in the house came from down the hall. Peter noticed the truant officer sitting in the cruiser parked on the street. Really? Could the cop that lives in the house not keep his son from sneaking out? Peter swung around to the backside of the house. Peering in through the back door, he saw Flash cleaning the kitchen. He looked...sad. Peter was shocked. He had seen the boy angry, but usually he was Mr. Positive Energy. Always smiling, loud, bouncing around. He'd never seen his bully looked so subdued and downtrodden. Peter shrank back against the house as Flash approached the door. He opened it and emerged carrying a garbage bag full of bits of glass and metal, by the sounds of it. The bully tossed the bag into the trash can by the alley and stood, staring into the darkness.

"Get back here!" Flash and Peter both jumped at the volume of the command. Harrison was standing in the open doorway. Flash turned and mumbled something about taking the garbage out as he walked back toward the house. "I don't wanna hear it, retard. Get in here and get me a fuckin' beer. I don't want you leavin' this house until I say so, you got that?" He grabbed Flash by the arm and threw him inside. "Fuckin' waste of space. Get your ass in your room and stay there. You can think about your boyfriend and jerk off all night, queer." He slammed the door and locked it. Peter stayed where he was until a light along the side of the house turned on. Must be Flash's room. No curtains there, either. The Thompsons apparently didn't think much of privacy. Peter jumped onto the neighbor's roof and peered into Flash's bedroom window. The room was a mess. It was the complete opposite of the rest of the house, which seemed to be pretty clean. Flash's room had piles of clothes and sports equipment that he was currently piling against the closed door. The bully then tipped over a five-drawer dresser so that it lay on top of the pile of junk, essentially blocking the door so that it couldn't be opened without a great effort. Flash then settled onto his bed and opened a textbook. Peter pulled out his phone. He'd gotten it back just before lunch, as Captain DeWolff had promised.

\- Hey, Flash. I'm kind of freaking out about today. Are you okay?

He watched as Flash looked up quickly. He rose from his bed and reached into his backpack that was laying on the floor. He looked at his phone and scratched his left temple.

\+ fine. flash

\+ u? flash

The bully hesitated in between the two texts. He tossed his phone onto his bed and climbed back into his studying position.

\- I don't know. Not really. My aunt's out for the night. Want to get together for a study session? Maybe Math?

Flash picked up his phone and seemed to read it several times, chin resting in his left hand. Finally he started typing.

\+ scared being alone? ;-) i'm grounded or i'd say yeah. thx tho. maybe u should do english instead. u blew it yesterday dummy. flash

Peter saw Flash smirk as he typed the last line. He was right, though. Peter did not like English. It was boring and impractical. Or maybe it's just that it wasn't as easy for him as Science and Math so he had a bit of a prejudice against it.

\- Ha! Yeah, you're right. I suck at poetry. Sorry to hear you're grounded. Hope you can still play football?

Flash's face, which had brightened a bit from earlier, now darkened again. Peter suddenly realized how unfair his voyeurism was.

\+ yeah. football and school. nothing else til after football season. flash

Peter was on his way. Things seemed about as fine as they could be there. He was surprised at the pity he felt for his brutish classmate. Clearly, he had a hard father to contend with. Peter supposed Flash might feel he never measured up. His phone dinged again and Peter pulled it out of his Spider-pocket.

\+ dad pulled me out of drama. guess he solved my saturday dilemma. hate letting mary jane and team down. i'm pretty bummed. flash

What the-? Are we having a conversation now?

\- Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do?

\+ plan a series of crimes to keep the police busy 4 the next 3 weeks? flash

\- I'll see what I can do. Sorry, man. That sucks. Really. No chance of him changing his mind?

\+ u might have noticed hes kind of a dick. flash

\- Sorry. See you tomorrow?

There was no reply, but Peter figured it didn't really require one. He vowed to make a point of talking to Flash the next day at school. In the meantime, the streets were probably full of drug dealers and car thieves he could pass the time with.

 

"Oral pop quiz!" The class groaned in unison. "Someone give me an example of an end rhyme. Tyler."

"I got up out of bed. I fell and hit my head."

"Good! Let's try it in an ABAB pattern. Misty?"

Misty Kurtz stood up and smirked at Peter, who was just sliding into the room. "Monday morning, no big news. Peter Parker's late to class. He put on socks, but not his shoes. He slipped and fell right on his ass." She curtsied as the class laughed and sat down petitely.

"Sorry, Ms. Hartche." Peter mumbled and found his seat.

Ms. Hartche smiled warmly. "You may find redemption with your gift of an example of an internal rhyme, sir."

"Um...the cat and the rat played on the...mat..." His voice drifted off and he blushed at his desktop.

"Well, that isn't wrong. Flash? Save us?"

"He's just trying to impress another damsel in distress." He smirked at Peter out of the corner of his eye.

"Well done, Mr. Shakespeare. Kerry, an imperfect rhyme, please."

"What's that from?" Peter whispered to Flash, who had his usual smile pasted on. Peter was almost convinced yesterday and last night was a dream.

"Captain DeWolff." Flash explained. "In the park, remember?"

Peter shook his head. "I'll trade you math study help for English study help."

Flash cocked his right eyebrow. The bruise and split skin were almost healed. "Math and science for English and I keep the jocks off your back."

The jocks hadn't been a concern since a certain spider bite, but Peter appreciated the offer. "Deal. Meet during lunch and after school?"

"Lunch works. After school works if you're cool working in between plays. Football practice every day."

"Okay."

"This week, let's start working on composition." Ms. Hartche stepped in between Flash and Peter to interrupt their conversation. "Use any form you want. The poem can be personal or fantasy, just get something on paper. It'll be written and for my eyes only, but if there are any stand outs, I may beg you to present them to the class. That will always be optional. Poetry can be a therapeutic exercise, and I want to encourage you to take advantage of the confidentiality you have with me. Any questions?"

"When is it due?" A voice asked from the back of the room.

Peter noticed Flash was already scribbling furiously. He clearly wasn't feeling the anxiety that Peter was. It was bad enough having to read poetry, but now they have to write it, too?! Peter dropped his head to rest against his desktop and silently wished he were allowed to take an extra science class instead.


	14. Old Friends and Goblins

The theater was quiet. Mr. Farrow had just explained to his class that nine days from opening night, they had just lost their male lead. There was no understudy. A few of the students sniffled as they barely contained their tears. They had been working so hard to make this a successful production and it was all in vain. MJ and a few others were fuming silently. "I put a call in to an old classmate of mine. He works in the theater department at Julliard. He said he may have someone that could help us out, but he won't know until tomorrow. Until then, the show must go on! Gentlemen, those of you who do not have an acting role thus far, please come up to the stage one at a time. If we have to, we'll hide scripts on props. Maggie, Big Daddy, come on up for line readings. Andrew, why don't you start us out?"

Evan leaned towards MJ's ear as they stood to approach the stage. "Guess that's what we get for trusting a jock, huh?"

"Do not get me started." MJ whispered back. She climbed up the stairs, berating herself for missing the offered hand of a certain football star. He was certainly a jerk, but Flash did have his thoughtful moments.

They spent the class reading lines with every male crewman available, and it was painfully evident the play was going to be wretched. None of the boys had the stage presence Flash had commanded or the looks that made Brick the desired character he was. MJ sat dejected in a front row theater seat as the rest of the class filed out for lunch and stared at the stage curtain, willing it to fall on her and swallow her up.

"Hey, chica. Why so glum?" Liz sat down beside her best friend.

"I guess word got out?"

"That's what we get for living in a grapevine." She leaned her head on MJ's shoulder. "What does that mean, anyway? Shouldn't news spread fast through a corn field? You know, because of all the ears?"

"You need to stop hanging around Peter Parker."

"Why? Am I getting too corny?"

MJ smiled and rose to her feet, dragging her friend by the hand to the day's mystery meat special.

 

"I don't know what to do here, son."

"You could stop calling me son." Flash crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared at the principal.

"You need to replace your second track with another class, and I would suggest finding another fine arts credit. These are the available open classes." He pushed the book Flash had already dismissed across his desk to within the stubborn student's eye line.

Flash just continued glaring at the man. "I don't draw, or sing, or dance, or anything else on that list. You think my dad's not just gonna pull me out of whatever else you put me in? Just let me do weight training or nutrition or something."

"Those are electives, but you're still going to need an arts elective to meet graduation requirements. Look, why don't you try Speech? It's Ms. Hartche, and you'll already be in the class since you have her for first track."

"And then I fail when I can't go to the Saturday meets because I have football. You're not gonna fix this with another class!"

"Of course you won't fail. You'll be excused from meets that conflict with sporting events. I'm also going to assign you a tutor. I already spoke to your father and he agrees. You need to raise most of your grades by semester time to continue participating in any sport."

"Well, great! As long as you two have it figured out then. Just let me know when and where to report, sir." Flash mock-saluted and rose angrily to his feet.

"It'd be nice if you took your team spirit with you from the locker room to the classroom."

Flash stared at the man as he closed up the coursebook and obsessively put his desktop back in order. The guy was like a walking after-school special. Flash bit his tongue before he said something to get himself suspended and walked out of the office. Officer Conley was leaning on the counter, flirting with Sheila, the office assistant. "I'm heading back up to English if you feel like doing your job."

Conley scowled. "Try to walk out the front door instead. I'll show you how well I do my job."

"Are you coming on to me? I don't swing that way, man." Flash noticed Sheila roll her eyes.

"Get your ass to class, reject." 

Flash stepped into the hall and retraced his steps back to Ms. Hartche's room. She was standing at the blackboard with her back to the class as she wrote a large number three on the board. She noticed Flash enter her peripheral view. "Mr. Thompson, did you forget something?"

"No. I'm in Speech now."

"Oh! Well, delightful! Go ahead and find a seat. Pull out a notebook."

Flash surveyed the class quickly and found the only open seats were in the front row. He never sat in the front. Not even in Geometry last year when they had the super hot substitute teacher for a couple of days. He sat down, front and center, and dug into his backpack for his notebook. Most students had one notebook per class, but Flash just used the same one for everything. It was less to keep track of and less to lose. Of course, if he did lose his notebook, he would lose his work for every class instead of just one, but the 2.0 GPA student didn't think too much on that.

"Three." Ms. Hartche smiled at the class. "Three parts to a speech, three points to an investigation, three questions to an intro maybe? What else comes in threes in Speech?"

And... Flash was already lost. This was going to be an awful semester. He had signed up for Drama at the urging of Ms. Hartche after getting low scores on presentation in English last year. She thought he needed to be more comfortable speaking to crowds of his peers. He had no problem talking to his football teammates or leading gym class when Coach was "under the weather", but he seemed to get tongue-tied when his audience was seated in desks. The class drug on painfully slowly, and Ms. Hartche was kind enough to not call on him for examples or answers. When the bell rang to release the class for lunch, Ms. Hartche motioned him over. "Okay, Master Thompson, what's going on?"

Flash sank heavily into the desk in front of hers as she also sat. "My dad pulled me out of Drama."

"Oh, no!" Her face fell. "Why did he do that?"

Flash shrugged. "He's a jerk? He wants me to focus more on sports and I was going to skip a Saturday game because one of the plays is at the same time."

"You were doing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?"

"Yeah. I was Brick. I hate that I let my team down." He scratched his fingernail along the letters carved into the top of the desk he sat at.

Ms. Hartche smiled sympathetically. "I bet you were a great Brick. I'm so sorry, Eugene."

He felt his eyes moisten a bit and blinked quickly before tears could form. He hadn't cried since he was eight and wasn't going to start again if he could help it. It's not like crying ever did anything but make his situation worse. "Yeah. Well, you know I won't be at Saturday meets. They'll be writing me excuses for sports."

"Then we'll make sure you get plenty of time at the podium in class. If you can speak in front of your peers, you can speak in front of anyone. Get some lunch, dear. I'll see you next week."

He nodded his thanks at her and entered the hall where Officer Conley stood scowling. "Thanks for waiting, AC." Flash started toward his locker.

"It's Officer to you. Head into the weight room. You're lifting weights instead of going to lunch from now on."

"And I'm supposed to not eat all day or what?"

"Bring an apple to class. Figure it out."

Flash glared angrily as he threw his books into his locker and turned down the stairs to head towards the gym.

 

Peter scanned the lunchroom and spotted MJ and Liz seated at an otherwise empty table. He joined them with a smile. "Hello, ladies."

"Tiger. I see you opted out of the gourmet experience today?"

Peter opened his brown paper bag and pulled out a sandwich. "Delores refuses to cut the crust off of my bread like Aunt May does. So, the rest of you can put up with that lunch lady."

"Poor Peter Parker. No one at school to wait on you hand and foot." Peter knew Liz was teasing, but her toneless voice and choice of words left his skin crawling.

"That's why he surrounds himself with beautiful women!" MJ tried to brighten the mood. As usual.

"Beautiful and intelligent!" A voice spoke up from behind Peter and Liz.

"Hey, Evan! Todd!" MJ greeted her Drama classmates, who took the greeting as an invitation to sit down. Peter ignored the uneasy feeling in his stomach.

"So, Peter, have you ever considered trying your hand at theater?" Evan asked, picking at the shapeless glob of meat and sauce on his plate.

Peter shook his head. "I can barely get through a book report in front of thirty people. I doubt I could even remember my name in front of a whole theater."

"Aw, come on, Pete. You'd be our hero." Todd gave his two cents.

"Oh, Peter, you could totally do it! You're already familiar with the material, after helping me with lines." MJ's eyes filled with hope.

Evan took her cue. "I mean, if a dumb jock could memorize the lines, you could learn them in your sleep."

"Isn't there more to acting than just memorization?" Peter mumbled around his sandwich.

"Not when MJ is your acting partner. She draws everyone's attention."

MJ blushed. "Shut up, I do not." She playfully hit Evan's arm. Liz rolled her eyes.

"It's true, though." Evan shrugged.

"What we really need is to do Little Women or something. Can you imagine both of these girls on one stage?" Todd's attempt at flattery only earned him a murderous glare from Liz.

"MJ, let's go finish up that report." She stood abruptly and spun away from the group.

"See ya guys." MJ said apologetically and followed her friend.

Evan looked Peter in the eye. "So which one are you dating?"

"We're just friends."

"Sweet." Todd nodded and his smile creeped Peter out.

"Well, see you guys around." Peter jumped up quickly and sped off after the girls. What was with those guys? He didn't know either of them well, but his gut didn't like them. He caught up to MJ and Liz outside the office. They were pretending to talk as they gazed into the office window. "What's going on?" He asked them, confused. They answered in unison.

"Who is that?"

"What's he doing here?"

"Who?" Peter drew closer and followed their gaze. He gasped. Inside, talking to the secretary, was Harry Osborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I really wanted Harry in here, but couldn't figure out how to make him fit with my comic book/movieverse mash-up. So, let's say the Goblin that killed Gwen Stacy in my fanfiction was Norman, but nobody knows. He's still alive and living at home with his son. Thanks for reading and feel free to comment!


	15. My Hero

Oscorp International was a leading name in scientific research and development. At one time, it was Peter's dream to work there. After last year, however, whenever Peter heard the name, all he could think about was Gwen Stacy. Freshman year, there was a science fair that had as its first place prize a summer internship at Oscorp. Peter had entered a self-repairing tire sealant that lost out to Gwen's stain resistant laundry detergent. He was awarded a Science Mall shopping spree while Gwen impressed some key scientists at Oscorp so much during her internship that she was offered a permanent spot. The following year, she died onsite because of the actions of one of Oscorp's freak projects. Peter wasn't sure what they were researching, but he was confident that the same company that produced the genetically-altered spiders that gave him his superhuman abilities also had a connection to the goblin-like creature that killed Gwen. He had been keeping tabs on the company, but after the tragedy and the Lizard incident the year before, the company had closed its doors to the public and had been operating as a skeleton crew. Peter had bugs planted throughout the building to record any helpful information, but had thus far received no bites. He wasn't even aware Harry or his father were in the country.

As though he could read Peter's thoughts, Harry turned around and made eye contact with his friend through the office windows. He smiled. Grabbing a sheet of paper from the office assistant, he exited the office and approached the trio. "Peter! It's so good to see you. I have great news." Harry embraced Peter with a warm, strong hug.

"What are you doing here, Har?"

In response, Harry stuck the sheet of paper he was holding in Peter's face. "Are you going to introduce me to these beautiful women, or are you keeping them to yourself?" The girls giggled.

"Liz Allan, Mary Jane Watson. You go here?! When...how...why?" Peter looked at Harry, bewildered. He was clutching Harry's class schedule so tight he was creasing it.

"Why not? Top-notch security, top-performing students, beautiful women..." He kissed both MJ's and Liz's hands. "...and my best friend." He threw an arm around Peter's shoulders and grabbed his schedule before it was crushed beyond legibility. "What more could I want for my return into the wild?"

"What happened to boarding school?" Peter could feel a bead of sweat start to form on his right temple.

Harry shrugged. "Term ended. I'm a few credits shy of a stateside high school diploma. I WAS finishing up at Juliard, but the powers-that-be offered me this sweet opportunity. How could I refuse?"

"I'm sure I would have found a way." Liz winked and sidled closer to the heir. "What would you say to a tour of this fine establishment?"

"I say: how could I refuse?" He dropped his arm from Peter's shoulders and threw it around Liz's. Then he turned and gave Peter and MJ a wink. "Don't wait up, kids." Liz giggled and led him away.

"What a creep." MJ said once the pair was out of earshot. Peter didn't respond.

 

 

Flash ran towards the closing door to room 137 as fast as he'd ever run. The last bell had rung two minutes ago, just as he was getting out of the shower after lifting weights. "Mr. Lee!" He slid his backpack across the hall where it landed neatly in between the door and jamb. He shoots, he scores!

"Mr. Thompson, do try to arrive dressed from now on, hmm?" Mr. Lee said in a purposely terrible British accent and opened the door for the tardy student.

Flash finished buttoning his shirt as he kicked his backpack the rest of the way towards his desk. It came to rest against Peter's foot. "Thank you, sir." He mumbled.

"Okay, what's going on in America while Franz Ferdinand is enjoying his last meal?"

"Sorry, man." Flash muttered to Peter as he snagged his backpack and took his seat. Peter didn't acknowledge him and continued doodling furiously in his notebook. Flash watched him for a few minutes. "Is that Spider-Man?" Peter suddenly stopped and slammed his notebook shut.

"Mr. Parker?" Mr. Lee asked. "Anything to add?" Peter shook his head and the history teacher continued on.

"It's cool. Guy's a hero. I'm a fan, too." Peter ducked his head and pretended to follow along in his textbook. After a few minutes, he opened his notebook up to a blank page and wrote on it, shifting to the right so Flash could read it over his shoulder. NOT A HERO. HE KILLED GWEN. Flash was stunned. He stared at the back of Peter's head and wished ESP was a thing. Well, a thing he could do. He'd heard some mutants could read minds. He leaned forward to whisper to Peter, and Mr. Lee cleared his throat.

"Mr. Thompson. Anything you'd like to learn today?"

Flash looked up at the angry teacher. "If you had ESP, could you have a conversation with someone in your heads?"

"What does that have to do with...?"

"It's called telepathy, idiot, and it only works if the other guy has it, too." Keith Epson spoke up from the row over.

"Not necessarily." Patricia Lewis added. "With telepathy, you can read their thoughts and project yours onto them. So only one of you has to be a telepath."

"Okay, class, if we can get back to 1917..."

"What's the difference between telepathy and ESP, then?" Someone else interjected.

"One reads minds, the other tells the future."

"No, idiot! ESP was a blanket X-Files term that no one even uses anymore."

"Oh, really? Then why did you just use it?"

"ENOUGH!!!" Mr. Lee thundered. "Three-page paper due Tuesday on the reasons the United States joined the First World War. Silence for the rest of the track." He sat at his desk and glared at the clock with his arms folded.

Flash reached forward and grabbed Peter's notebook from him. ARE YOU CRAZY??? He scribbled below Peter's message and gave it back. Instead of responding, Peter shoved his notebook and textbook into his backpack and zipped it shut loudly. 

"Are you finished?" Mr. Lee asked accusingly.

"I'm composing in my head. I'll write it down later." Peter mumbled tonelessly.

"Et tu, Thompson?"

"No, I'm good." Flash opened his notebook and started writing. 'Parker- I don't know what's up with you but I think we should hash things out. I don't think either one of us is handling the loss of Gwen and George well. Whatever you want to do, man. Let's try to do it together. You game?' He tore the sheet out of his notebook and folded it several times. Making sure no one was looking, he quickly slipped it into Peter's jacket pocket. Peter was oblivious.

 

"How was your day, sweetie?" Peter shrugged in response to his aunt's question. His dear, sweet, gentle, patient, understanding aunt. She'd been trying to make conversation with him since she got home, but he was being a teenaged jerk and couldn't seem to get himself to stop doing it. She was just trying to love him, why couldn't he return the same? He sighed and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, Aunt May. Do you mind if I just go for a walk?"

She smiled sympathetically. "Don't stay out too late? Wake me when you get home."

He nodded and kissed her forehead. Grabbing his hoodie off the hook by the front door, he noticed a piece of paper flutter to the floor. Confused, he bent and picked it up, unfolding it as he straightened back up. What the--? Peter put his coat on and shut the front door behind him. Standing on the front porch, he pulled his phone out of his pocket.

\- 1. You have terrible handwriting. 2. You're still a huge jerk. 3. Fine. If I freak out on you, at least I won't lose a friend. How do you want to do this?

He waited a couple of minutes for a response, but received none. He threw his hood on over his head, shoved his hands in his pockets, and hopped down the porch steps. It was unusually quiet out. It was 8:00, so most little kids were being put to bed and grownups were settling in front of their televisions for the night, but there were usually a few guys out working on their cars or bikers or joggers getting their evening workout. Not tonight. Tonight, Peter was alone on the street. He wondered why he didn't have his usual urge to suit up and hero around. He was just so disjointed after seeing Harry at school.

"Get back here, you piece of shit!"

Peter looked up at the exclamation and saw Flash Thompson running right for him. "Scram, Parker!"

'Scram'? Who said scram anymore? Peter stood in shock as Flash sped past him. He saw Harrison Thompson buckling his belt as he ran to hop in the squad car that had Officer Conley behind the wheel. This can't be good. He turned just in time to witness Flash use a hand to jump over a fence higher than the school track team's high jump record and disappear. Peter dug in his pocket and pulled out his phone.

\- When you're done running, call me.

Alone on the street once again, he followed Flash's path and easily hopped over the tall fence. There was no sign of anyone. Where would Flash go? School? The grocery store? Peter had no idea. He did know there was a football game tomorrow afternoon, so the team captain would turn up eventually. It was nearly an hour later when the phone in his hand vibrated.

\+ y were u @ my house? flash

\- I was out for a walk. I didn't know where you lived. Are you okay?

Another ten minutes passed before the reply came.

\+ wat do u think? im on the lam lol! flash

\- I don't think that's funny. Where are you? What are you going to do tomorrow?

This time it was fifteen minutes.

\+ gwen. flash

What? What about Gwen? Slowly, it dawned on him. He knew where Flash was.


	16. The End of the Tunnel

Flash was sitting on the grass with his back against a tree, watching the sun set. It seemed to be sinking down perfectly between Gwen and George Stacy's headstones. Without saying anything, Peter sank down beside him. "I haven't actually been here since the funeral." He started. "I thought I would have."

"I've been up here enough for both of us then." Flash's voice was low and dark. "Hasn't brought either one of them back. They don't even know we're here."

Peter sighed. "Yeah, I guess." There was a long pause as the sun sank lower. Peter was surprised he didn't feel uncomfortable sitting in silence with his antagonist. "You said something the other day. About not protecting Gwen? You're not blaming yourself for what happened to her, are you?" Goodbye, comfortable silence.

"Makes more sense than blaming Spider-Man. Where do you get off doing that?" Flash turned to face the other boy.

Peter balked. "He was there! He tried to save her and failed. He should have kept her out of danger to begin with."

"How do you know he was there? No one even knows what happened to Gwen except she fell and someone saw a monster in the area. What do you know about it?"

Peter hung his head. "I heard the call on the police scanner. That's how I know where Spidey is to get shots of him for the Bugle. I got there and she was... He tried to save her, but he was too late or too far away or too not good enough!" Peter nearly exploded and lost his fight against the tears he had been holding back.

Flash spoke softly. "Geez, Pete. You saw Gwen? Dead?" Peter nodded and Flash turned away to watch the sun again. "Is that how you remember her?"

"I can't get it out of my head. I wake up most nights trying to catch her. I see her falling. As though I'm Spider-Man. As though I can figure out what he did wrong and fix it. And stop it. But when I wake up, she's still dead." Huh. He'd never used the d-word before. Not about Gwen, or her dad, or his parents or Uncle Ben. He'd always used 'gone' or 'left' or 'lost'. Frickin' Flash Thompson. "And sometimes I hear her blame me."

Flash was nodding. "When George died, I couldn't face Helen. I thought that she'd blame me. I don't know why. Like anything bad that happened to their family was my fault because I bring that with me. And then I kind of kept my distance from Gwen. I felt ashamed or guilty or something. And then she died and I wasn't there. I told George I'd keep his daughter safe when he wasn't around, and I let her die. Sometimes I hear him blame me. I get that."

"Do you think that's normal or are we crazy?"

Flash shrugged. "Who knows? I don't think it matters if you're crazy or not. It's still real to you."

"I guess that's true." The sky exploded into orange and purple as the sun touched the horizon. In the distance, they heard a police car siren scream. "What was going on at your house tonight?"

Flash shrugged again and waited a few minutes before answering. "Are you ever in a situation that's so bad and you don't know how to fix it so you just make it worse?"

"I think I'm doing that with my aunt right now. We got along fine when my uncle was here," Alive. "but since he's been gone," Dead. "we can't seem to connect with one another. I know she's hurting real bad, but I can't get myself to try to meet her halfway and it's almost like we're becoming strangers. Like tonight. I couldn't even make small talk, so I just left. I know she's just feeling worse now because of it."

"You guys don't talk about him?"

Peter shook his head. "Hardly ever. I think we're both afraid to. What if the other person starts crying? Then it's your fault."

Flash snorted. "As though they're not already feeling bad and just hiding it."

"Yeah. We should be getting closer since we both have this mutual loss. Like help each other through it. Like you and me with Gwen, I guess. She was both our friend, and even though we never all hung out together, you and I now have a mutual loss. Who would have thought that would ever happen?"

"She wanted us to." Peter looked at him quizzically. "George didn't care, we had a different thing going on, but Gwen had this crazy end goal of the three of us being good pals or something. I made fun of her for it, but she really thought it was gonna happen. George told me to watch out because she had the mutant ability to will things into existence. She wanted brothers, and boom she got them. She wanted to live in New York, and boom Captain Stacy gets a job offer and her mom gets a partnership. She wanted to travel the world..." The silence was heavy this time.

"Death sucks."

Flash laughed in surprise and stopped suddenly. "Sometimes I think it might not be so bad."

Before he could respond, Peter's phone started playing The Temptations' My Girl. Aunt May. He had told her he was going for a walk. He pulled out his phone and answered. "Hi, Aunt May. I'm just about home. Need anything on my way?" He nodded. "Okay, see you soon. Tell her she can wait or I can go over there. Doesn't matter. Love you, bye." He hung up and looked at Flash apologetically. "MJ's at my house. Want to come watch a movie or something?"

Flash shook his head and tried unsuccessfully to hide his sorrow. "Nah, thanks. I don't think she'd like having me around. Want a ride though? I've got my car here."

Now Peter saw the Mustang in the parking lot. "Sure, if you don't mind. Where are you going to go then?"

Flash stood and brushed off his jeans. "Probably Kim's. My dad doesn't know I work there yet, so I'll just do that."

Peter wanted to pursue that thought, but didn't want to push it. They'd already discussed a surprising number of topics tonight. Maybe Gwen's friendship idea wasn't so far-fetched after all.

 

"Was that Flash?" MJ greeted him from the window as he entered his room.

"Huh? Yeah. So what's up?" Peter tossed his hoodie onto his bed.

MJ eyed him suspiciously. "Liz and I were going to go to a movie tonight, but she cancelled on me. Said Flash wanted to grovel for her forgiveness. I told her to stay away from him, she said she was going anyway, I come over here to vent and find out you're out for a walk..." She sat in Peter's desk chair and swiveled to face him. "And witness you coming home with one F. Thompson. What gives, Parker?"

"E. F., actually." Peter challenged.

"Hmm?"

"E. F. Thompson."

"What's that stand for?"

"I'll tell you if you spill on the rumor situation."

"There are other people in school that know his real name."

"There are other ways I can hear the rumors."

"Okay. What do you want to know, exactly?"

"I want to know what happened the night of the party. I believe Liz experienced something awful, but I don't think it went down the way she told us it did. Did she tell you something else after I left? What has she been telling everyone at school? Why did she tell us something different than them?"

"Okay, Sherlock. What makes you think she's lying?"

"One. Flash was not drunk like she demanded he was. I witnessed him actively not drinking. Why lie about that?"

MJ nodded. "Well, if he wasn't drunk, then he's a criminal on purpose."

"Two. But if he did attack her, why would he let her run downstairs and alert us? She said she warded him off with a punch to the face. He's nearly twice her size. How is she going to muscle him around?"

"That's a really good point and one that's bothered me, I admit." MJ sighed. "Look, Petey, I don't want to not believe her and then have her get into real trouble and have no one to go to, you know?"

"But if she's going to lie about this once and get away with it, what's to stop her from doing it again?" Peter sat heavily on his bed. "Three. She seems to have no problem going to school with a guy who tried to rape her."

"Happens more often than you might realize." MJ said softly. "Why are you defending someone who's nothing to you? Are you guys buds now?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess that's complicated. I think he's gotten away with a lot of things he shouldn't have, but being accused of sexual assault if you're innocent isn't just. That could ruin your life. But that's not what she's telling everyone else, is it?"

"No. That's complicated, too. People say Liz is easy. She says she isn't. If she tells people what she told us, they'll call her a tease, which is to some people worse than being called a slut. They'll jump to poor Flash's defense and turn on her. She really, really wants people to like and admire her. So if she leaves out the details and just says Flash wanted sex and she didn't, he's a low-life and she's a saint. See? Now I have a question for you." She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Eugene Frederick. But he's been Flash as long as I've known him."

"I get it. I'd use an alias, too. But that wasn't my question."

"Oh. What is it?"

"Why is your friend okay with being a jerk? If he didn't kick Liz to the curb because she won't sleep with him, why wouldn't he defend himself? He's got to know there are some girls that won't date him now."

"Not my friend. I don't know. Maybe he loses either way? I think he really cares about Liz. Maybe he doesn't mind a little extra tarnish to his reputation if it means sparing her? Or maybe he feels bad about whatever did happen that night? Anyway, his football buddies think he's even cooler now, I suppose."

"Why don't you ask him?"

Peter chewed on his bottom lip. "It's not really my business. And we're not friends. And we're kind of trying to work on some other stuff right now I guess."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, my girlfriend Gwen was his friend. He and I don't get along, but we both loved her. So there's that."

"Ah."

"I just pulled some cookies out of the oven!" May's voice interrupted the silence. "Anyone interested in helping get rid of them?"

"Coming!" Peter and MJ called back in unison and laughed as they jostled past each other to get through the door.

 

Peter sat in the fourth row aisle seat in Midtown High's theater, waiting for the debut show to begin. He knew MJ was chewing her fingernails in nervousness backstage. Harry had come in to replace Flash as the male lead just last week. The cast had put in a lot of extra hours to adjust and tonight they'd finally know if it paid off. Peter had taken pictures at that afternoon's dress rehearsal where the camera flash wouldn't disturb the performance, so now he got to sit back and enjoy the show. The week before had flown by pretty quickly with very little contact with Flash. The football team lost their Saturday night game to Hell's Kitchen and Flash didn't return to school until Thursday. The two boys started up their tutoring sessions as if the absence hadn't occurred, and the drama between everyone had seemed to diminish. Maybe they'll all survive the school year after all! Peter straightened in his seat as the lights dimmed and the curtain rose. MJ and Harry looked good together on stage, although MJ said it was a very different dynamic than it had been with Flash. Harry was 'very intense and unpredictable, like white water rapids to Flash's strong, steady current', she'd tried to explain to Peter. She was right about the intensity; at several moments, Peter had to keep himself from jumping up onstage and holding Harry back when it looked like he was about to attack MJ.

At intermission, Peter ran out the back door of the school to the football field to snap a few shots for Monday's Midtown Crier. He approached the sidelines in time to witness Flash get sacked. One linesman swept out his knees while a larger defenseman hit him chest-high. Flash crumbled and the larger defenseman landed squarely on top of him. Peter gasped with everyone else when the player climbed off of the quarterback and Flash didn't move. His legs were folded underneath him in an uncomfortable angle and his throwing arm was lying flat on the ground beside him. Peter was the first to reach him. All the color had drained from the quarterback's face and his eyes were closed. Peter unbuckled and pulled off the boy's helmet as the team medic knelt down beside him. "Is he breathing?" The man asked. Peter didn't know. His vision blurred. "Get out of the way!" The medic pushed around Peter who stumbled to his feet and backed off a few paces. The sound came and went.

"-okay, Thompson?"

"Broke his legs!"

"-hit so hard-"

"Is he-?"

"-happened?"

"Flash!" Liz's shriek burst through Peter's fog and he caught her in his arms as she ran past. "Let me go, Parker!" She cried.

"Let them take care of him. They know what they're doing." They both turned as the small crowd of people surrounding the prone quarterback cheered. Flash slowly rose to his knees and then to his feet, reaching for his helmet as he went.

"Flash!" Liz broke out of Peter's grip and ran to her ex-boyfriend. "Are you okay?!"

He looked a little puzzled at the scene around him. "Just knocked the wind out of me. I'm fine." Liz threw her arms around him and he winced.

"Get back in there, men!" Coach yelled and everyone started moving immediately.

"Not so fast, Flash. You're coming with me." The medic stopped the injured player from putting his helmet back on.

"I'm fine, doc."

"You're fine when the X-Ray says you are. Come on. You got someone you want to tag along to the hospital?"

Flash started to shake his head, but Peter interjected. "I'll go!"

"Good. Talk to him along the way. Let me know if he acts weird at all."

Peter was ready to make a wisecrack at that, but stopped himself when he noticed Flash was still very pale and wobbly on his feet. "Come on, pal. Let's get you fixed up, what do you say?" Flash didn't say anything and let Peter wrap his arm around his shoulders and help him to the car.


	17. Bedside Manner

"Who's waiting on line one?"

"We've got a code two in room four!"

"Just wait a minute!"

"Dr. Tello to ER Seven, Dr. Tello ER Seven."

"I told her three times already. How much longer?"

The ER was hectic and Peter wondered how it compared to a normal day. He supposed they never really had normal days. It is a room for emergencies, after all. The team medic handed Peter a clipboard. "Fill this out and wait with Flash. If you need anything, grab a doctor. I've got to get back to the game in case I'm needed there. Do you know his parents to call them?"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks. We've got it." He watched the medic run off and looked at Flash, who was having a difficult time making eye contact. "There's a couple of chairs there, let's grab them." He led Flash to two mint green softback chairs and they sat. "Okay, are you with me?"

Flash breathed in and out deeply and slowly. "Yeah. Should just let me go home and sleep."

"Yeah, I don't think sleep is what they recommend for a concussion. But I'm not a doctor."

"No, you're not." Flash agreed a bit too loudly.

"Right. So, full name Eugene Frederick Thompson. Birthdate January thirteenth?" He looked to the injured boy for confirmation.

"Do you think maybe I was born on a Friday? Maybe that's why?"

"I don't know. Why what now?" Flash didn't answer, so he continued. "How tall are you? Six feet? How much do you weigh?"

"A lot."

"How much? One sixty?"

"I don't like hospitals."

"Nobody likes hospitals. I'm just guessing on your weight and height, k?"

"Whatever. Five eleven, one sixty five."

Peter sighed. "Thanks. Emergency contact. Your dad?"

"No. My uncle. W. Fisk. Two one two-"

"What's the 'w' stand for?" Peter interrupted.

"Two one two-"

"Is it Wilson? Is Wilson Fisk your uncle?"

"I want to give you a phone number. But you can't use it; it's just for emergencies."

Peter was beside himself. "Okay, give me Wilson Fisk's phone number. I won't use it."

"It doesn't matter. He's in Vienna."

"It is Fisk!" Peter struggled to keep his voice low. "How is Wilson Fisk your uncle? Is he your mom's brother? I didn't know he had siblings!"

"My mom's dead." Flash turned to Peter with dark, angry eyes. "You don't talk about her." He looked furious.

Peter was startled. "Yeah, Flash, sorry. I was just... I'm aware of Wilson Fisk is all. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry, Flash."

"But I hurt you. All the time." He was sorrowful.

"Not all the time. But I'm okay, Flash. I'm okay. Let's finish this form, huh?" Flash didn't answer and sat staring at his shoe. He was slouched in the chair with his left leg extended. "What's your uncle's number? Two one two what?" 

"I said he's in Vienna. He won't be back until June."

"That's fine. They just need his contact number."

"No, two weeks. Not June. That was something else."

"Okay. But what's his number?"

"What was it? Can't remember." Flash was rubbing his hand through his hair, brow furrowed in frustration. "So stupid. Can't remember a stupid thing. What was it?"

"Flash, it's okay. I don't need to know about June." He put his hand on the agitated boy's and tried to make eye contact. "I just need his phone number."

"Two one two three four seven one two two seven two one two three four five six seven eight nine ten." Flash stopped suddenly and closed his eyes tightly.

"I'll be right back." Peter quickly ran over to the admissions window. A nurse looked up questioningly. "Hi. My friend there has a concussion I think. He looks like he's about to pass out. Can we get someone to look at him or let him lay down somewhere?"

"He looks fine from here, honey. We'll get to him shortly." She waved him away and picked up the ringing desk phone. 

Peter returned to Flash, who was swaying slightly. "How ya doing, man?"

"I feel pretty awful. My head's ringing and the things keep moving. I need to lay down."

"I think we're next up." He said unconvincingly.

"Call your aunt. Maybe she can hook us up."

Duh. "How did you know my aunt works here?"

"I've seen her. She stitched me up one time."

"Oh. What happened?"

"My dad busted my head open with a baseball bat. He's an asshole."

"What?" Peter was stunned. He pulled open his phone and dialed Aunt May. "Why would your dad do that? Was it an accident?"

"I deserved it." He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead on them, eyes still closed.

Peter heard his aunt's voice in his ear. "Aunt May, are you at work? ...I'm in the ER with Flash Thompson... He's hurt pretty bad... Football game... I think he has a concussion... He's acting weird, like drunk... Says the room is spinning... Okay, I see you." Peter stood and waved his aunt over when she emerged from the door beside the admissions desk. She was pushing a wheelchair. "Aunt May, can you help him?"

"They're getting a room ready. Flash, honey? Flash?" She knelt beside the unresponsive boy. "Eugene? Honey, let's get you to your feet." She and Peter helped Flash unfold from his position and into the wheelchair.

"I'm 'onna be sick." He mumbled weakly.

"We'll try to get you settled down before that happens, okay?" Aunt May clasped Flash's hand as Peter pushed the wheelchair down the hall. "Can you give my hand a squeeze?" Flash did; barely. "Good! What happened, Eugene?"

"I hit my head." His eyes were still closed and his color still pale.

"On the football field?"

"Yeah."

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"On my foot and my leg and my...eye. Eyeball." He scrunched up his face. "No. I can't breathe." His voice was barely audible and his breathing was shallow.

"Okay, well we're just about to the X-Ray room. Peter's going to help you get out of your uniform and into a gown while I grab a doctor, okay? You're doing great, dear." She patted Flash's head and rubbed Peter's back before hurrying off.

"Alright, buddy. I'll get your shoes off for you. Can you get your jersey?" He bent and untied Flash's shoes and removed them with his socks. Flash didn't move at all, so Peter grabbed the bottom hem of his jersey. "Lift your arms a bit?" Flash did, and Peter pulled the shirt over his head. "Oh my god." He saw a bright purple and red bruise peeking out from underneath the chest protector of his shoulder pads. He undid the laces and gently lifted the pads over Flash's head as well. The bruise covered most of the boy's chest and abdomen and wrapped around underneath his left arm. He helped Flash slip his hospital gown on. "I'll help you stand up so you can slip your pants off."

They were just about done when the doctor entered the room. "Flash Thompson. Long time no see."

"Hey, Dr. Cruz. I'm not doing so good."

"You never are when I see you. Hop up on the table and open your gown." He and Peter helped the injured boy climb up to sit on the exam table, and when Flash opened his gown, the doctor grimaced at the bruises. "Okay, we're not going to do too much before taking some X-Rays. Try to breathe deep for me. Let me know if it hurts." He put his stethoscope on and held the receiver against Flash's chest. "Definitely some fluid in there, probably blood. Let's go to radiology and I'll order up some additional tests. Communicate with me Flash, let me know if your discomfort increases at any point here, okay?"

Flash nodded his agreement and accepted Peter's help in returning to the wheelchair. "Broke some ribs I bet, huh? Did I puncture a lung again?"

"Not yet, I don't think. Unless a rib is sticking in there, holding back the collapse. You're May's nephew? Mind pushing him down the hall yet?"

"Right behind you, doc. I'm Peter. I saw the collision."

"Ooh! An eyewitness! Tell me about it."

"Two guys tackled him. The big one about two hundred pounds landed square on top of him. We thought his legs were broken, actually. He was unresponsive for a few minutes. Said he got the wind knocked out of him, but he was out cold."

"Do you remember any of that, Flash?" When he didn't get a response, he angled his view to observe Flash staring at his knees. He seemed unaware of anything around him. "Alright, Peter. Are you comfortable hanging out here? He's clearly concussed and having a friend nearby could be useful should he get agitated."

Peter hesitated slightly. "Well, we're not really fr-" he paused. "Sure, yeah, I'll stay here with him. He was getting pretty worked up in the waiting room."

"People with concussions aren't totally in control of themselves or their emotions. They'll say things they don't intend to say and may not even mean. Tomorrow, this whole day may be a blank to him."

"He won't remember any of this?"

"Hard to say. He might retain bits and pieces, or he may remember things completely differently than they actually happened. He might think you guys went on a trip to the circus or something rather than the hospital."

"Really. I guess I've never had a concussion." Well, not that he could remember anyway. "What about his ribs?"

"The scans will tell us. I'm more worried about his internal injuries than his concussion, actually." He stopped walking and looked Peter in the eye. "This is all confidential, obviously. In the absence of a relative, I'm treating you as Flash's eyes and ears. Understood?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll fill Flash in later."

They entered the exam room and proceeded with various tests.

 

Three hours later, Peter sat in a comfy lazy boy recliner next to the hospital bed his school bully was sleeping in. Flash was propped up slightly and looked utterly exhausted even while he slept. He had three different bags of fluid attached to his arms.

"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Harrison Thompson growled from the doorway. "Didn't I tell you to stay away from my kid?"

Peter slammed his book shut. Aunt May had brought him his homework and some food an hour ago. "Someone had to stay with him. I was at the game."

"Of course you were. Taking pictures of the boys in tight pants, right? Get out." He stepped aside just enough for the slight boy to slide past him and through the door. Harrison Thompson was over six feet tall and more than two hundred pounds. Peter felt tiny next to the imposing man.

"Peter, heading out?"

Peter looked up and met Dr. Cruz's serious gaze. "Uh, yeah. Flash's dad is here."

"Really?" Dr. Cruz looked surprised. "Well, it's a day of miracles, I guess!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as Flash's proxy, I'll tell you that he has a hairline fracture running up the entire length of his sternum. Six bruised ribs, none broken. A few damaged bronchioles in his left lung, but nothing needing surgery. This all could have been so much worse. People have died from these kind of potential injuries. I'm keeping him here overnight for observation, but Flash should be able to go home tomorrow. If the other boy was five pounds heavier, or landed in a slightly different angle, this could be a very different conversation."

"Wow. I guess I didn't realize how serious it was. Thank you, doc. Will he be out the rest of the season?"

"That's my recommendation. He needs to take it easy for at least six weeks. Then we'll take more X-Rays."

"He's gonna be disappointed to hear that. Thanks again, doc."

"We'll see you, Peter."

Peter left the hospital and spent the next two hours webbing up street thugs. It was just starting to get dark when he got home. "Aunt May, I'm home!"

"I'm in the kitchen, dear. Are you hungry?"

"As a hippo." He plopped down at the kitchen table as his aunt pulled a pan from the oven.

"I was only going to wait another ten minutes before finishing this lasagna off without you."

"Flash's dad came, so he's not alone if he wakes up."

"Is he still sleeping?"

"Yeah. He's getting blood and some other fluids. Dr. Cruz said he's got some bruised ribs and a fractured sternum, but he doesn't need surgery and might go home tomorrow."

"Oh, thank heavens!" She was interrupted by a knock at the front door.

"I'll get it!" Peter jumped up and opened the door. "MJ! Hi!"

"Hey, Tiger. So what's the drama? You didn't come back after intermission." She entered the house and hung her jacket and purse on the coat hook by the front door.

"I'm so sorry about that! I ran out to take a few pictures of the football game, totally intending on getting back in time for the second half, and ended up having to escort Flash to the hospital." He led MJ into the kitchen.

"Oh, wow! What happened?"

"Hello, dear. Will you join us?" Aunt May smiled from where she was currently grabbing a third set of dishes for the girl.

"Mmmm...sure! Thank you!" She sat in an open chair.

"He got tackled from two sides and one of the guys landed right on top of him. Flash was totally knocked out cold for a couple of minutes. It was pretty scary, actually. He got a concussion and a cracked sternum and some bruised ribs. Some lung damage, but not too serious, I guess."

"Oh, wow. To think, he never should have been there in the first place. He should have been in the play."

"How did opening night go?" Aunt May dished lasagna out for everyone.

"Really well! Our next performance is tomorrow afternoon. Can you make it?"

"You bet I can and will! I'll need an escort, Peter. Can you think of anyone suitable?"

Peter laughed. "Yes, ma'am, I'd be honored to take you. Has your Aunt Anna gone?" He asked MJ.

"Yes, she and mom came today. They'll probably go tomorrow again. You can all walk together maybe."

"That would be lovely. I'll call them in the morning." Aunt May smiled at the children as they joked with each other over their dinner.

 

Flash stirred and groaned at the bright light shining in his face. He tried to push it away, but his arms were both stopped short by something tied around his wrists. "Hello?" He croaked. His throat was incredibly dry.

"Sweet dreams?" A voice slurred from the darkness of the room.

"Dad?" Flash tried to shut his eyes against the light, but the brightness shone even through his eyelids. "It's too bright."

"Oh, is it? Thought you liked being in the spotlight."

"What are you-?"

"That's what this is all about, isn't it? You want attention? Little Flashy-pants Thompson always needing to be noticed."

Oh, my God. What is he doing?! "Where are we?"

The light, Officer Thompson's flashlight, it turned out, went sailing across the room and into a wall, where it dropped to the ground with a loud clang. "Did I give you permission to speak?"

Flash shook his head. "No, sir." He couldn't stop the tremble in his voice.

"You pansy-assed little shit. I shoulda thrown you out with the trash when I had the chance. You know how much better my life would be?" Flash could see him pacing in the glow from the flashlight beam. "Rosie would still be here, I wouldn't be stuck throwin' rejects in jail, I'd be rich, you know that?" When Flash didn't answer, he picked up the end of the bed and dropped it, sending bolts of pain through Flash's body. "YOU KNOW THAT?!!!"

"Yes, sir." Flash felt his stomach contents, little as they were, try to escape. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"You're sorry, you're always sorry. Everyone's always sorry! You can stick your sorry up your ass, you piece of shit. Waste of space." He stopped and turned to the just-opened door. "You're interrupting a police investigation." He growled at the young, frightened nurse.

"I'm sorry, sir. I do have to check his readings and change out his IV." She practically whispered.

"Sure, darlin'. Just give us five more minutes, hmm?" She nodded and left the room. Harrison closed the door and approached the bed, glaring at his son. "You try to skip next week's game, and I'll put you in here for good. You understand?" He removed the handcuffs he'd used to shackle Flash's wrists to the bed.

"Yes, sir."

"Heal up nice now, lightweight." He slapped the side of Flash's head in a gesture that would be considered loving if it wasn't so hard. He turned the room lights on and left the door wide open when he left. Flash shivered and fought to hold back his tears.


	18. Hide and Seek

"Make sure Flash gets some of those." Aunt May handed Peter the Tupperware of cookies and kissed his forehead.

He laughed. "Okay. I'll be back by one!" He ran out the front door to where MJ was waiting. "Are you sure you want to see him?"

"Well, yeah. I think so. Maybe I'll kick him while he's down."

Peter gave her a sideways glance. "You know I'd have to stop you."

"I know you'd have to try."

"Are you going to be nice?"

"Peter, if you keep treating your enemies with such kindness, your friends might start to resent you." Peter wasn't sure how much she was kidding, and they walked on a while in silence. "So how well do you know Harry?"

"Osborn? Not really well. We kind of grew up together until I moved in with my aunt and uncle when I was eight, and then we just saw each other once or twice a year. I haven't seen him now in three years. He'd been going to school in England."

"Is he a good guy? Liz is interested."

Peter shrugged. "I really couldn't say. His dad can be kind of intense and it seems Harry tries to be like him. He's used to getting his way. Liz won't be able to push him around like she does everyone else."

"Hmm. Well, she's going to do what she wants anyway. I get a bit of a creeper vibe from him."

They reached the hospital and MJ followed Peter's lead. Flash was in the same room as yesterday. "Hey, Flash!" Peter felt guilty when Flash seemed to jump a mile and looked up at them, stricken. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to startle you."

" 'Sfine. Hey." Flash's voice was weak and it looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"Not feeling so hot, huh?" Peter sounded apologetic.

"No. Can't sleep and everything important hurts."

"Sorry, man. Did Dr. Cruz talk to you? I was supposed to pass along your info, but you were still out when your dad came in and gave me the boot." He sat in the lazy boy and MJ perched on the arm.

"Yeah, he was in this morning." Flash averted his eyes.

"My aunt sent some cookies for you." Peter offered the Tupperware, but Flash didn't reach for it. He set it on the tray beside the bed. "She said you don't even have to share them with anyone."

"Thanks. That's really nice." He attempted a weak smile, but his eyes remained dull.

"Why can't you sleep? Pain?" Peter was concerned.

"I guess. Can't get comfortable."

"Looks like you've got some new bruises since yesterday. I suppose you hurt in more places, too, huh?" He was looking at Flash's wrists, where slight red lines appeared across them. Maybe from the gloves he wears as quarterback? Does he wear gloves?

"Yeah. But only everywhere. How was opening night?" He turned to Mary Jane.

MJ shrugged. "People liked it. Harry's really great."

"That's good." Flash grimaced in pain as he tried to hold back a cough.

"Flash? You okay? Do you need anything?" Peter leaned forward in the chair.

"No, just maybe some water." He accepted the glass from Peter. "Thanks. I should be released tomorrow. Maybe I can catch a show yet, since I won't have practice."

"Are you done for the season?" MJ looked slightly sympathetic.

"I don't know." Flash mumbled as his eyes closed.

"Well, it'd be great if you could come." Her voice trailed off. "Flash? Are you awake?" When there was no response but the soft wheeze of Flash's pained breathing, she turned to Peter. "He's asleep! He fell asleep talking to me. Am I that boring?"

Peter smiled softly and took the glass from Flash's limp hand. "No, your voice is just like a lullabye. You sung him off into dreamland." They both sat watching their classmate for a few minutes. "He doesn't look comfortable, but I'd hate to move him and wake him up if he didn't sleep at all last night."

"We have to get to the school anyway." They stood up and left the room. Peter closed the door behind them. They stepped back out into the sunlight and MJ smiled at her friend. "Thanks for walking me. It's so nice out!"

"Of course! Not that Crazy Carl and Looney Lena aren't great people to share a bus ride with."

"You'll have to give me a subway tour one of these days. I've been too nervous to explore much on my own yet. I only know how to get to the shopping centers." She blushed and Peter thought that was the most attractive thing he'd ever seen.

"Sure! It's not too difficult to get used to. We'll have a date over winter break maybe."

"A subway date! So romantic."

Now it was Peter's turn to blush. He hadn't meant a real date, but he wasn't going to try to change her mind! They walked the rest of the way to school playfully joking back and forth. "My lady." Peter opened the gym door for her and bowed dramatically.

MJ giggled and curtsied. "Why, I thank you, good sir. Are you leaving right away to get the old biddies?"

"Yeah. They walk a bit slower than you and I, you know." He waved and started on his return trip to pick up his and MJ's aunts so that he could escort them to the play. He and MJ both adored their aunts and enjoyed teasing them about their "old age". To be fair, both women were in their fifth decade, but both also had a lot of energy that defied their age. 

Peter returned to the school, this time to the front door, with May Parker and Anna Watson an hour later. The trio had taken the bus instead of walking. "You two enjoy the play. I'll pick you up in a couple of hours."

"Peter, you aren't staying?" Aunt May looked disappointed.

"I think I'm going to go visit Flash. He's got some homework to catch up on and he's got to be really bored laying around in the hospital."

"That's very thoughtful of you, dear. Mary Jane can escort us back home. We'll take her out for dinner first, have a girl's night out, maybe. You just ignore the clock." Aunt May kissed Peter's cheek.

"Okay. I wouldn't want to butt in, in that case! See you tonight. Have fun!" He ran down the hall to get Flash's books from his locker. He'd been stuffed into Flash's locker on enough occasions that the janitor gave Peter the combination out of sympathy.

Peter ran to the hospital and stopped short right outside the door to Flash's room. Dr. Cruz was sitting on the edge of Flash's bed. He was holding Flash's hand and the two were talking in low voices. Both wore serious looks on their faces. Peter tried to back out out of sight, but Flash caught him. "What's up, Parker?" His voice sounded stronger than it had that morning. His nap must have done him some good.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Not at all! Company would do Flash some good." Dr. Cruz rose to his feet and clapped Peter on the shoulder as he walked past him on his way into the hall. "Good to see you, Peter."

Peter raised the textbooks to meet Flash's line of sight. "Want to hang out?"

"No fair adding torture to my situation."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe it'll catch on. Teachers will start going all 'Misery' on their students so they can't run away during class. Everyone loves a captive audience."

"You're sick. I thought you were going to the play."

Peter walked around the bed and drug the lazy boy back up to the side of it. "I was, but I've already seen it and I know you're going to have a hard time getting caught up with classes, so..." He trailed off without finishing the sentence and held up the textbooks. "Math or Science?"

Flash looked his tutor in the eye until the other boy started to squirm. "Science is fine. Can you recall what you learned when you took Chemistry in fourth grade?"

Peter blushed. "Eighth. Although I did enter my first science fair in third grade."

"Eighth grade was my first year playing varsity ball. Baseball and football, anyway. I wasn't tall enough for varsity basketball until sophomore year." He took the notebook Peter handed him reluctantly. "Just a couple of freaks here."

"Is everything okay, Flash? It looked like I interrupted something serious."

Flash flipped through his notebook slowly before answering. "Yeah, everything's fine. He just wanted to make sure I understood how bad my injury is. He set up a meeting with my dad to explain."

"No more sports?"

Flash shook his head. "No more football. Probably no basketball this year. Should be okay for baseball season." He kept his eyes glued to his notebook. "My dad's going to be pissed."

"Why? It's just sports. At least you'll heal."

Flash gave another small smile that didn't touch his eyes. "So what's new in science?"

Peter took the hint and opened the textbook to the right page. "How much do you love the periodic table?"

"Can I say zero? That's also how much I understand it, FYI." He scratched his head and picked up the pencil that had rolled out of his notebook. "Hit me, Parker."

"You don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say those words, Flash." Peter was relieved when he got a genuine smile from the broken boy. "Okay, I'm going to let you in on a few memory tools I use for these elements."

"I hate my life." 

Peter laughed out loud at this. They spent the next three hours studying the elemental table until Peter noticed Flash was growing uncomfortable. "You need a break?"

"Yeah. I could use a nap, actually." He looked up and glared as a nurse entered the room. "What do you want?"

"Are you ready for another morphine drip?" She stopped, confused, as she noticed the line for the pain killer was hanging loose on the pole. "Who removed this from your port?"

"Dr. Cruz. Took out the port, too. I don't want any drugs."

She looked suspicious. "He wouldn't do that. The pain relief aids the healing. Let me reattach it for you."

"Stay away from me. It doesn't even hurt."

"Your broken sternum doesn't hurt when you breathe? Really?" She scoffed.

"Get out."

"Fine. But I'm going to check with Dr. Cruz." She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room.

"You really aren't on any pain killers?" Peter was surprised. He'd suffered the pain of broken and bruised ribs before, and it was no picnic.

"I'm not a fan of morphine. Or other drugs like that." Flash stated simply.

"Sure, I can understand that." Peter picked up his aunt's Tupperware. "But you should at least have a cookie."

"Okay." Flash reached for one and gestured for Peter to do the same.

"Mmf. Better than drugs." Peter spoke around his cookie.

"Why are you here? Why are you helping me with school and why do you care that I got hurt? I don't get you."

Peter met his gaze and finished chewing. He shrugged. "You've been trying to change. Look, you've been a huge jerk for like four years now. I don't think you were that bad before that. I don't know what happened or what's going on with you, but I know that you've been trying to be better. I can tell. Maybe Gwen helped with that and now that she's gone you don't know what to do, I don't know. She's gone and I don't know what to do most of the time. I don't have anyone at school that I look forward to seeing. I don't have a reason to go to school some days. I don't have any plans for after school anymore. I don't know. And I think maybe you're as lost as me. So maybe if I help you, I can help me. Maybe if I can forgive you for the bad things you've done to me, I can forgive me for letting Gwen die. I don't know. Maybe there are real monsters out there and you're just a regular guy. Maybe I overestimated you. Or underestimated. I don't know. Maybe my uncle would have wanted me to give you a chance at redemption. I really don't know, Flash. You asked for my help, didn't you?"

"Did I? Doesn't sound like something I'd do." They both continued eating their cookies for a few minutes. "You ever wonder what this is all about?"

"What what is?"

"Everything. Gwen's dead. George is dead. My mom, your uncle, your parents. All dead. And we're still here. Just like nothing happened. What if I die in here? Everyone will just keep going to school and going on like nothing's different. So what's the point?"

Peter shrugged. "But things are different. All those people are gone, but we think about them. And I know I'm a different person than I would be if I still had them all in my life."

"That's not true. Doesn't matter what happens to you. You'll always be you, Parker. And I guess I'll always be me. And nothing can change that. Not until we're dead."

"I disagree. People change, Flash. Our lives aren't predetermined. We choose what we do and who we want to be and the people and circumstances in our lives influence those choices. And those choices determine what kind of impact we have on the people around us."

"Bullshit. Did you choose to be an orphan?" Flash's eyes finally showed a bit of a spark instead of the dullness that had been there since the day before.

"Of course not. But I receive everything in my life the way I do because I'm an orphan. I'm thankful for everything my aunt and uncle have done for me because I'm dependent on them because they're all I have. I looked to my uncle for advice because I didn't have my dad to turn to. I work so hard in school to be good enough to live up to my parents' legacies because I'll never know just how much I'd have to do for them to be proud of me. Every aspect of my life is defined by their absence." He paused to catch his breath and wipe a few tears from his eyes, but Flash didn't save him from the heavy silence. What was he thinking? What made Peter keep opening up to his archnemesis like this?! He was just going to use it for fuel for more to mock him with, Peter just knew it! "Don't you wonder what you'd be like if your mom was still around? Maybe you wouldn't be such jerk to everyone. Maybe your dad wouldn't be such a jerk to you."

"Maybe I'd be dead already and wouldn't have to deal with you and school and football and all of life's other little fuck yous."

Peter looked up to see Flash glaring daggers at him. "You asked me! I don't know what your problem is!" He stood up and threw his hands in the air next to his head. "Forget this. I'm done trying to help you. You'll never get it if you don't want to and I have other things to do than waste my time here. Figure your own shit out." He stormed out of the room without looking back.

 

It was almost midnight when Spider-Man landed on the roof of Midtown Central Hospital. He'd had a successful evening of crime fighting. He'd made more work for the NYPD desk jockeys, sure, but he'd done his part in getting the criminals off the street. Let the boys in blue take care of the paperwork and taxpayer-funded housing. He'd worked out his frustration toward Flash...no, toward life...on the street thugs and alley trash around town and found the guilt over how he left things with his classmate set in. He changed back into his Parker clothes and decided that if Flash was sleeping, he'd go home and go to sleep with an easy mind. No problem. Peter looked around for cameras before scaling down the side of the building and dropping down behind a couple of tall evergreens. He brushed himself off and walked into the hospital through the front door. He knew it was past visiting hours, so he quickly hustled through the lobby as though he was supposed to be there and didn't slow down until he was just entering Flash's room. It was empty. The bed was unmade and Aunt May's Tupperware was sitting on the bedside table. Peter looked closer and saw it was empty. There were at least a dozen cookies left in it earlier, so either Flash got really hungry or he shared the wealth. Peter went back to the front desk. "Excuse me, do you know what room Eugene Thompson was moved to?" The nurse looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. "Visiting hours ended three hours ago."

"Yeah, I know, but there's a family emergency. He's not in his room."

"How are you related?"

"Cou-brothers." He didn't think cousins was a close enough relation, but he felt sick thinking about having Flash Thompson as a brother. "I really need to talk to him. Please."

The nurse looked suspicious, but starting typing on her computer. "There's no record of him being moved. He should still be in one thirty."

"Okay. Thank you." Peter was confused. Maybe he was just walking around the halls? He went back to Flash's room to find everything in the previous state. He entered and picked up the Tupperware from the table and headed down the hall. A lap around the emergency wing uncovered no star athlete. Peter decided to give up for the night. Maybe they just didn't enter the new room assignment in the system yet. He'd come back tomorrow after school and check then. There was nothing he could do now but go home and sleep.


	19. Well That's Different

"Peter! Wait up!" Peter turned at the sound of MJ's voice.

"Hey, MJ! Want to walk home together?"

"Oh, I'm not going home. The play closes tonight, so we're having a little pizza party before the final show."

"I thought Friday was the last day?"

MJ laughed. "It is Friday! Where have you been, space case?"

"When did that happen? I thought it was Wednesday! Oh, man!"

MJ shook her head playfully. "Well, it isn't. Don't you remember Wednesday was your photo shoot with Amber?"

"Well, yeah, and Thursday was Sasha, so that makes this..."

"Friday." They both said together.

"Wow. Guess I sleepwalked through this week."

"Aw, you're just missing your boyfriend." She winked at him.

"For the last time, Flash Thompson is not my boyfriend!" He realized how loudly he'd said that when fifty of his classmates turned confused faces toward them. "I could do better." He mumbled. "Not that I'm looking! I mean at guys. Not that..."

"There's anything wrong with that." MJ interrupted, rolling her eyes. "Peter Parker, you are one high-strung fella, aren't you?"

"Sorry." He paused. "It is weird he's been gone all week though, right?"

"I wouldn't want to come to school with broken ribs." She shrugged.

"Sternum. But the way he disappeared from the hospital. Weird, right?"

"Nah. Alien abductions happen every day. You just never hear about them until they happen to you." She got right in his face and spoke with a spooky voice.

"Right. Okay, MJ, have a great last show! I'll see you this weekend maybe?"

"Probably. I don't have grand plans for once. I mean, I was going to hop on my private jet and head out to the Bahamas, but I gave my pilot the weekend off."

Peter shook his head and smiled. "You're too much. See you later!" He waved and hopped down the steps to the sidewalk and onto his skateboard. He skated the seventeen blocks to the front doors of the Daily Bugle and waved a salute at the doorman as he jumped off his deck. "Hey, Oscar!"

"Peter. How ya doing today, kid?" The old man had been with the building longer than the Bugle had been there.

"Pretty good. Just found out it's Friday."

"Well, that's a heck of a nice surprise for you! Enjoy your weekend, sport!" He ruffled- actually ruffled!- Peter's hair as the boy walked past and slipped him a Jolly Rancher. 

Peter accepted the candy with thanks and dashed into the elevator just as the doors were starting to close. Robbie Robertson was already pushing the button for floor 22. "Hey, Pete. How's kicks?"

"Not too bad, Mr. Robertson. Did you know today is Friday?"

"That I did. I never miss a Friday. You know what we call Fridays in the newspaper biz?"

Peter lit up. He loved learning about this business from the guys that lived and breathed it since they were his age. "What's that?"

"Day before Saturday, son." They reached their floor and Robbie exited the elevator laughing heartily.

Peter made a wry face and followed him out, turning into his cubicle twenty feet down the hallway. He didn't mind the news guys having a laugh at his expense. Rather than stemming from cruelty like Flash Thompson's jokes, the journalists' humor was a sign of solidarity. It was nice feeling like 'one of the guys'. He turned his computer on and waited for it to warm up. It was an ancient thing, purchased before Peter was born, and updated with new software until it wouldn't support any more. This was the tool Peter was given to keep the Bugle's website running. Luckily, Peter was well-versed in writing code.

"Hi, Peter!" Beautiful Betty Brant sauntered by, smiling and waving. Peter sighed. In truth, she simply walked by, but in Peter's mind, it was always a saunter. She was gorgeous. Ten years older than him, sure, but gorgeous. He waved back, but she had already turned the corner.

Peter's monitor lit up and he immediately clicked open three windows. In each of the search engine bars, he typed 'Wilson Fisk', 'Harrison Thompson', and 'Rosalinda Thompson'. As he waited for the search results to load, he pulled out his phone and typed in Flash's number.

\- Hey, man. I'm sorry. Where are you?

He set the phone down, not expecting a reply, and watched as search results started to pop up. There was a much longer list of results for Fisk than for Flash's parents, but the answer Peter was most curious to find didn't seem to be appearing. There were apparently two dozen Rosalinda Thompsons in New York City, and they were all still alive. The only obituary that came up for the name was from 1999 and the woman was 74 when she died. Peter found the pre-Internet world completely foreign. He closed the window and scanned the results for Harrison. He had a number of awards related to his police service. There was a picture of Harrison and an attractive blonde woman standing with George Stacy attached to an article from the previous summer. The caption below the picture read, 'NYPD Officer Harrison Thompson and wife Sunny stand with Police Captain George Stacy (right) at Saturday's Policeman's Ball. Officer Thompson received a plaque for fifteen years of public service.' Peter closed down his computer and pushed himself away from his desk.

"Done already, Peter?" Robbie stopped on his way to J. Jonah Jameson's office with two cups of coffee.

Peter sighed. "I have to go enter in some more obits and births from ancient times."

Robbie laughed. "You know you love microfiche. How far back are you?"

"I'm skipping around a bit. The films aren't really in order. I'm working on that as I go."

"I don't envy you your job, Peter. Don't get lost in the dungeon!" He laughed again and continued on his way.

 

Flash winced and pulled the blanket over his head to block out the sun. "You just had to be in an apartment with east-facing windows, didn't you?" he groaned.

"Doesn't make any difference to me. Rent was cheaper and I save on shades. Call me frugal."

"That's almost what I want to call you." Flash winced again as he pulled himself into a sitting position on the small sofa.

"You okay?"

"Give me a minute." He breathed deeply and willed the pounding in his head to subside. "Thanks for letting me crash here, Matty."

"Of course. I'm glad you finally found your way back here." The red-headed man pulled two glasses down from a cupboard and filled them with orange juice. He motioned Flash over. "Come eat."

"Well, I didn't want to get you in the middle of it again, you know? Sure wouldn't be good for business." He walked across the room and lowered himself onto a barstool. Matt had a studio apartment, so the rooms flowed into one another without walls in between.

"Don't worry about my business. My friends come first, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." He rolled the glass back and forth between his palms as Matt's gaze lingered.

"Your breathing is shallow."

"It's pretty sore. I'm probably gonna just lay around today. I've got some homework." He motioned with his head to the textbooks laying on the floor with his shoes by the door. Matt didn't follow the movement and turned back to the fridge again.

"What are you hungry for? I've got eggs and bread. Cheerios and milk."

"Just orange juice is great, thanks." Both men finished off their juice in silence.

"I have to get to work." Matt set his empty glass in the sink after rinsing it out. "You will be here when I get back, right?"

"I'm in no shape to go anywhere." He waited for Matt to step away from the sink, but the man just stood still. "What's going on with you today, Matty?"

Matt sighed and turned around to face the boy. "There was a fire in Koreatown last night. Four buildings burned down, including a grocery store."

Flash's heart stopped. "Kim's?" His voice sounded like a child's. Matt nodded. "Did they get out?"

Matt turned away and reached for his jacket. "We're investigating. No one seems to have seen anything. You know how it is."

"They lived there. They never left unless I was there to cover the store. They were always there, Matty." His voice wavered.

"Cops found two bodies." He paused as Flash stifled a wail. "I'm sorry, E.T. I know they were your friends."

"My fault. I put them in danger." He walked back to the couch and sank down.

"Stop it. You can't hold yourself responsible for the things monsters do."

"Okay, Pot." He started to say more, but his voice wouldn't cooperate.

"Rest up, E.T. We'll take that asshole down yet." Not hearing a response from the boy, he turned and left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

Flash reached for his phone and noticed he had another text from Parker. He deleted it and punched in the last number he wanted to call.

There was a pause between the other end picking up and a deep voice answering. "Your father is very worried about you, Eugene."

"I know you're tracing the call and I know you won't come within a hundred feet of this place."

"The lawyer's." The words sounded like gravel. "I'm not the one you need to hide from, child."

"You had nothing to do with the fire? What about telling him where I worked?"

"You should be working with me."

"You mean for you." Flash bit out angrily.

"For now. If I'd had a mentor, I'd own the world by now. You should be working for me and you should be thanking me for the opportunity. You should not be making an enemy out of me."

"I'm not your enemy. I'm just not you."

"Who are you, then? Are you your father? Are you a fool like that drunkard?" Flash was silent. "I should have taken you for my son when I had the chance. Our relationship would be very different right now, yours and mine, if I had."

Well, duh. Flash rolled his eyes. "Sometimes I wish you had."

"We could start brand new. Begin again! Your past can be forgiven and your future very bright, Eugene." The man's voice was brimming with hope. Flash hated to squash it.

"Don't be an idiot. I never had a future, Uncle Wilson. Please stop killing my friends." He ended the call and held the phone to his chest, feeling it vibrate from the incoming calls he refused to answer.

 

"...L, M, N, O, P. Q, R, S, T, hee, hee, hee, hee!" Peter sang as he found the file box he was looking for. Or hoped he was looking for. 'Midtown Hospital Services Birth Records 1996-2002 T'. What a stupid filing system. He blew the dust off the top of the box and coughed. This was the last non-computerized year for MHS. "Where are you, Flash-man?" He thumbed through the box and came up empty. Forty-two Thompsons and none of them Eugene or Harrison or Rosalinda. Now what? Check the thirty other hospitals in Manhatten? Maybe the two hundred in New York City? Or the three thousand throughout the state?! Peter angrily threw the box back onto the shelf and knocked the one behind it to the floor. He sighed and bent to pick it up. 'Midtown Hospital Services Birth Records 1988-2002 Unknown'. Huh. "Guess I've got nothing to lose." Peter began in the front.

January 3, 1988 Boy, Caucasian, Blonde, Blue Andrew Broderick  
January 30, 1988 Boy, Caucasian, Brown, Brown Charles Donivan  
February 13, 1988 Girl, Asian, Brown, Brown Amy Belinda  
March 1, 1988 Boy, Negro, Brown, Brown Edward Frederick

Peter flipped through the file. He saw the pattern.

January 6, 1999 Girl, Negro, Brown, Brown Amanda Bethany  
January 9, 1999 Boy, Negro, Brown, Brown Alexander Brian  
January 12, 1999 Girl, Caucasian, Red, Green Christine Delilah  
January 12, 1999 Boy, Asian, Brown, Brown Christopher Dylan  
January 13, 1999 Boy, Caucasian, Blonde, Blue Eugene Frederick  
January 23, 1999 Boy, Negro, Brown, Brown Gary Horowitz  
January 31, 1999 Boy, Caucasian, Brown, Blue Immanuel James

A, B, C, D, E, F, G... oh, my god. Peter sat down heavily onto crate he was using as a stepstool. Flash was adopted. He was abandoned at birth and adopted by an abusive drunk with girlfriends he never married. Or something like that. What the hell? No wonder the kid was so messed up! He jumped as his phone dinged. He stood up and dug it out of his pocket.

\+ should be back in school Monday. what'd I miss? flash

Flash. Peter felt a bead of sweat run down his forehead and wiped it away.

\- Not much. Are you okay? Where did you go?

\+ i'm @ a friend's. don't tell Mary Jane, she doesn't think I have any. lol flash

\- You should come to my house. My aunt is a great cook. We can do homework.

\+ don't be weird. flash

\- Please.

\+ c u monday weirdo. flash

Peter dropped his head.


	20. In The Closet

Monday couldn't come soon enough for Flash. It was certainly not a common scenario that he was looking forward to the start of the school day, but a week away had him missing the routine. He ran to school as usual, taking his time. Hell's Kitchen was a lot closer to Midtown High than Forest Hills, but it took him the same amount of time to get there, what with his restricted breathing and movement. His bones were healing nicely and from the outside he looked the picture of health. It was the invisible inside that housed the pain as always. There was something poetic about that, he was sure. Staying with Matt always made Flash think in more spiritual terms. Matt was a lawyer from the Kitchen, a semi-professional boxer's son, that happened to study eastern mysticism. He had a hippie new-age monkish way of looking at life that Flash found to be a little unsettling. Like Matt's philosophy was based more on make-believe than reality. Still, Matt was a good friend and confidante. Like a thoughtful, wiser, world-traveled older brother. He wasn't Flash's last resort for sanctuary, but he was near the end of the list. Flash didn't want to lose his only true friend by wearing out his welcome. He approached the sidewalk that led to Midtown High and felt his palms start to sweat and his heart rate quicken. He knew it wasn't from the run, but pretended it was nonetheless. He was walking into enemy-allied territory. A place where he was imprisoned by a letterman's jacket, friends of convenience, and a D average. And a place that held no barrier between him and his father.

"Flash! Where the hell have you been?" Kong smiled widely and caught up with the quarterback. "Man, have you missed a lot. Liz and Tony are dating now, and he's scared shitless that you are going to kick his ass. I think they did it on the team bus after our game up in Hackinsack. That's when they became all googly around each other, anyway."

Flash shot his friend a quizzical look. "Why would I care if they're dating?"

"I don't know. But they're going to prom together and he's up for King. So..."

"Oh my god, I should have stayed away another week. Nothing ever changes here, does it?"

Now it was Kong's turn to look confused. "What? I just told you. Everything's changed! Oh, and guess who I'm taking?"

"Kelly. Megan. Brittany." Flash started down the cheerleader roster.

"MJ! The redhead from LA, you know? She and me and Tony and Liz are doubling."

"Wow. Good for you! She's really cool."

"Yeah. Hates your guts, though." Kong laughed loudly.

"Well, can't fool them all." He continued on toward the science wing as Kong slipped into his History class. He was already starting to regret returning to school.

 

"So, Peter. I'm offering rides to prom in our stretch limo. Are you in?" Harry took a seat next to Peter's desk in Advanced Calculus.

"I wasn't going to go, actually. I don't have a date."

"What?! You have to go! Go stag, like me."

"You're not taking Liz?" Peter was surprised.

"Nah. She's fucking that Ionetta jock. They're coming along with us, and MJ and that Kong guy, a couple of others."

"Well, as fun as that car ride sounds, I think I may still have to pass." He looked up as Mr. Grosz shut and locked the door.

"Come on, don't let me be the only loser without a date. Be my wingman, man!"

"Harry, if you don't have a date, it's only because you haven't asked anyone. Don't act like you don't have a choice."

"That's not the point. I want you to come with me. I don't know these people."

Peter shrugged. "They know you. You'll have a line of girls waiting to dance with you. You'll be fine!"

Harry's eyes darkened. "They don't know me. You know me. Peter, please."

No, Harry, I don't. Not at all. Not any more. Peter sighed. "Okay. I'll go with you. But I won't like it."

Harry beamed. "You don't have to like it! You just have to be there." He clapped his old friend on the shoulder and gave his full attention to their math teacher.

 

The lunchroom was louder than usual as Peter made his way through the hot lunch line. The temperature had dropped enough that people didn't want to eat outside any more, making finding a seat more difficult. He smiled as Dottie slopped an extra large scoop of mashed potatoes on his tray and winked at him. He helped himself to some gravy and ketchup for the meatloaf, grabbed a milk, and peered around the lunchroom.

"Peter!" Harry and MJ both stood and waved him over. He heeded their call to join their table with Liz, Tony, Kong, Flash, and a couple of theater guys and football players. Weird group.

"Peter, thanks for getting those pictures to everyone. They look really great!" Liz gushed and accepted a forkful of meatloaf from Tony. Ew.

"Sure! I'm glad everyone is happy with them. It's good to see you back, Flash. How are you doing?"

Flash shrugged one shoulder. "Fine. A little sore."

"So you're not coming back to the team?" Tony asked nervously.

"Tony's been doing really great. If we win tonight and Thursday, we make the playoffs." Liz interjected.

"Big if." Kong muttered. "We've lost the last three games by multiple touchdowns!"

"It'd help if he had some cover!" Liz shot back.

"Or if he didn't have two left feet!" One of the other football players laughed, but meant no hard feelings by it.

"Or if he could throw straight!" One of the theater guys tried to join the fun, but got glared at by most of the table instead.

"Shut up, Evan." Liz barked.

Tony tried again. "So, are you going to be ready for basketball tryouts? Not that you'd need to try out, but-"

"I won't be playing basketball this year." Flash interrupted. "I hope to be better in time for baseball."

"Why aren't you playing basketball? It's like two months away." Liz mocked.

"Apparently bones don't heal that quickly."

"Apparently you're not as tough as you act then." She smiled derisively.

"Liz." Tony quietly tried to hush her.

MJ tried to change the subject. "So Harry, have you asked anyone to prom yet?"

"Yep! Me and Pete are going together!" Peter blushed as everyone reacted. "Just a couple of straight guys in bowties!" Harry grinned wolfishly and threw his arm around Peter's shoulder.

MJ winked at Peter. "Not that there's anything wrong with that." Peter shook his head and blushed some more. "What about you, Flash?"

"I think I'm busy that night."

"Working, I suppose? As usual?" Liz snapped. She didn't realize how his face fell and his eyes dropped to his plate as he didn't answer.

"Maybe Harry should ask Sally Avril. She and Swede just broke up." Tony made eye contact with Harry. "She's smoking hot, dude."

"For real, she is." Liz agreed. "You two would look too cute together."

"And cut out on my wingman? No way." Harry stood with the rest as the bell rang. "But if she needs a dance partner, I'll be around."

Liz kissed her boyfriend goodbye and handed him her and MJ's lunch trays. "See you after school, hunk." She grabbed MJ's hand and pulled her out of the lunchroom and into the hall.

"Chemistry, here we come." MJ groaned.

"Gag." Liz agreed. "Do you think Parker would just do our homework for us?"

"No. He's too honorable."

"He's too dorkable."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Liz rolled her eyes. "Whatever. They can't all be gems, Watson." They stepped into the Chemistry lab and she breathed deeply. "Ah, the smell of boredom."

"To each her own." Dr. Nguyen stated from his desk in the corner.

Liz had the decency to look embarrassed. "Sorry, Doc. Just walking in here makes my brain hurt."

"No need to apologize. I hated Chemistry in high school, as well. Too much brain RAM I could've been using for girls' phone numbers and airplane trivia."

MJ giggled. "You wanted to be Tom Cruise from Top Gun?"

Dr. Nguyen looked surprised. "Nice reference! And yes, he was a big deal back then, okay?"

"What happened? How'd you become a high school teacher?"

"That is a long story, but basically the Air Force and I didn't mesh. They did get me through college, however, and the future Dr. Mrs. Nguyen made me fall in love with teaching."

"Wait." Liz interrupted. "You married your college professor?"

Dr. Nguyen laughed. "Well, dated my T.A., married her after we received our Masters, but yes, she's a college professor now. She outranks me."

MJ grinned widely at her friend. "Now THAT is adorkable." They sat at their lab table as the rest of the class filed in. MJ noticed Tom Rahill among the group. "Hey, Tommy."

He looked shocked. "Me?" He comically pointed to himself.

"You're the paper's editor, right? You're in charge of the thing?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes, I am." He puffed up slightly. "Why?"

"Are you looking for any new features? I love to write and I just got a great idea."

"What is it? We're always looking for something new!"

She leaned in closer to his ear. "Getting To Know You. An interview/bio column featuring a different student and a member of the faculty every week. I'd start with Dr. Nguyen and... you?" She smiled.

"Make it Dr. Nguyen and you and send me a draft by Wednesday. We do a last review on Friday, print over the weekend, and have them at the doors early Monday morning." He smiled back at the redhead. "I look forward to seeing what you have to offer. Get with Peter Parker for contributing photos and formatting questions. Here's my number." He scribbled his cell number on a corner of a notebook page and ripped it out.

"Thanks, Tommy! I'll give you my best Wednesday." She took the slip of paper from him and turned back around in her seat.

 

The classroom attendant waved Flash over as he entered the library for Study Hall. "The principal would like to see you immediately." He groaned inwardly and nodded his thanks at her. Great. Now is when he finds out he's missed too much school and will be held back in high school hell for an extra year. Shoot me now. When he entered the office, the secretary told him to go right into the principal's office.

"Flash, welcome back! How are you feeling, son?"

Flash barely registered the man's words as he felt his chest close up. Seated in a chair across from the principal's desk was his father. And standing against the far wall was the Coach. "Sit down, Eugene." Harrison ordered. Flash sat.

"Your father, Coach Louis, and I have been discussing your future. I understand you won't be available to play any more team sports this year?"

Flash cleared his throat. "I hope to be better in time for baseball." He ignored his father's snort of disdain.

"Right. Well, we have a situation with your college requirements. You know your eighth grade year doesn't count even though you were on the varsity team, right?"

"So?"

"So, in order to get into the top schools..."

"The ones that get NFL scouts at games." Coach clarified.

"...it really doesn't look good to have an interrupted season like this."

"I don't really care about-"

"Let him finish." Harrison interrupted his son.

"So the Coach here has brought to my attention that you basically act as his assistant coach as it is."

Yeah, when he's drunk or hung over. "Just doing my job as team captain."

"Well, if you'd be willing to stay on in that role for the rest of the school year, we'd make sure that was reflected in your transcript. What do you say?" The principal beamed at his own brilliance.

Flash was less enthusiastic. Working for Coach sounded like penance. Which, by the looks on his father and Coach's faces, it probably was. "Yeah. That'd be great. Thanks for the opportunity." He sighed.

"Good call, son." Harrison reached over and clapped Flash on the shoulder. Hard.

Flash winced in pain. "I do have study hall right now. Lots to get caught up on." He rose to his feet.

"No, no." The principal waved him off. "Go to Algebra. You'll have Study Hall last track with your tutor Peter Parker. You'll be staying late to get your grades up. Non-practice days, of course."

"Don't worry about his time management, sir." Harrison spoke to the principal, but stared his son directly in the eye, expressionless. "Eugene won't be wasting any more time outside of school and sports. He even quit his job the other day."

Flash's vision went white. He ran from the room and dashed across the hall to the men's room, where he barely made it into a stall before throwing up his lunch and breakfast. "Geez, man. You okay?" Flash looked over and saw Peter at the row of urinals.

Flash stood and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He and Peter both made their way over to the sinks to wash their hands. "Yeah. Just a reaction from the pain killers."

"Oh. Glad to hear you're taking them, though. Though I guess that means you're maybe not ready to be back here yet, huh?" He dried his hands on a paper towel and eyed Flash sympathetically.

Flash shrugged. "Nowhere I'd rather be. Did you know they made you my tutor?"

"Yeah. The advisor talked to me just now. I was just on my way back to Latin." He paused, concerned by Flash's pale complexion. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine. I gotta get to math." He brushed past Peter and out the door. His ears were ringing and he felt slightly dizzy as he made his way down the hall. The math wing was the closest to the front office, but the walk felt like he'd walked the length of the school. When he got to Mr. Birchly's room, the door was standing wide open and everyone was talking loudly.

"Flash! You lost?" Kong greeted him from the back row. Luckily, there was an empty desk next to him.

"No, had some schedule changes. I'm here now." he sat in the desk beside his teammate.

"Sweet! Class just got a little less boring."

"Where's Birchly?"

"Dude's not here." Kong shrugged.

"Yeah, that's why I asked where he was."

"No idea. He hasn't showed up yet." He went back to doodling in his notebook.

"Is that Spider-Man?" Flash noticed a similar web design to what Parker usually drew.

"Yeah. Dude's so cool. I heard Tiffany tell Seizzler that he saved her from getting hit by a bus and told her to look both ways before crossing the street and she said he sounded real young like our age. And Tony Penn said there's a website that tracks his sightings and that they're all within twenty miles of Manhatten, and maybe specifically Midtown. So now the word is that he might be a high school student in Midtown and maybe he even goes here!"

Flash rolled his eyes. "Dude, if you were a superhero, would you still be going to school?"

"Well, no. But I'm not Spider-Man."

"Obviously, Chubby." Flash patted his friend's sizeable abdomen.

"Aw, man, I thought you weren't gonna make fun of me no more." Kong looked hurt.

"I promise that was the last time." He replied lazily.

"That's what you said last time."

"Did I? I guess I don't have a very good memory."

"It's all the brain damage from getting sacked all the time. If you were really so fast, you'd be able to dodge those."

Flash smiled and didn't reply. He liked Kong. They'd grown to be pretty good friends over the past three years of playing football and basketball together. Kong's real name was Kenneth Harlan, but the team started calling him King Kong after a particularly brutal takedown their sophomore year and it stuck. He was the best defensive lineman in the school. His parents both had jobs that had them travel a lot, so Kong often found himself home alone for days on end. His house was a popular site for post-game parties, but more importantly, he often housed teammates that needed to get out of their own houses for a night or two, and Flash took advantage of that numerous times. He knew the feel of Kong's couch as well as he knew his own bed.

"Thirty minutes! No teacher, no class!" Someone shouted and students started packing up their books and filing out into the hallway.

Flash and Kong followed suit. It may not have been an official rule, but the students had decided at some point that if a teacher doesn't show up after thirty minutes into the class period, they can declare the class canceled. It had only happened once before in Flash's memory, and that was when old Mrs. Dietz, the art teacher, had a heart attack on her way to class their freshman year and the students found her in the stairwell as they were leaving class early. Flash remembered Kong cried about her death; she was his favorite teacher and he thought of her as a grandmother almost, and when a couple of seniors made fun of him, Flash took them both on. The fight cemented Flash and Kong's friendship, Flash's place as captain on every sports team, and Flash's reputation as a brawler. From that moment on, no one but Flash mocked Kong Harlan.

"You wanna leave school early and grab a pizza?" Kong asked him.

"Nah, I don't know if I can miss anymore school if I want to pass this year. I think I'll just head to study hall early."

"Cool. Catch ya later then." Kong waved and was off.


	21. Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Peter was shocked to see Flash sitting at a table, surrounded by books when he entered study hall. "How long have you been here?"

Flash looked up. "An hour. Last track was cut short. Birchly never showed."

"Really? I don't think he's ever missed a day." Peter was surprised. "Well, we've got two weeks to get you caught up in everything, so I thought we would take each subject one at a time. Are you okay with that?"

"Whatever you say, Teach." He started cleaning up his work area.

"K. First off, are you alright? You haven't responded to any of my texts all week, you show up today clearly not ready to be back, and you look like you barely even know where you are. Flash, I'm sorry about how I acted in the hospital. We had a disagreement and I didn't handle it well. I admit, I'm a bit unsure of how to act around this new you. I mean, as you try to, you know, be better." He started out strong, but faltered as he tried to voice his concerns.

"Do you really care? Because we can just study if you want."

"No, you were right. Someone we both loved died and neither one of us is handling it well. It makes sense to help each other. I admit, it's hard for me to look past the things you've done and said to me in the past. That's my fault. I need to do better. You obviously are able to put aside your hatred of me."

Flash scoffed. "I am, huh? Why do you think I hate you?"

"Do you generally bash the face in of someone you don't hate?"

"Violence isn't hate. Not always. And anyway, I don't want you dead."

"Is that what it comes down to? If you hate someone, you want them dead?"

"Sure." Flash said simply. "But you want them to suffer first. Like I would want bad things to happen to you and would find pleasure in that. But I don't. I don't want bad things to happen to you; I just don't want you to always come out on top. I think it's good to lose once in a while."

Peter felt his face starting to get hot. This guy is so infuriating! "How much do you think I need to lose? My dad, mom, uncle, girlfriend isn't enough?"

Flash looked defeated. "That's different. I'm not talking about death. I mean, if I hated you, then yeah, I'd spend my time reminding you about them because I know that it hurts you. I'm talking about how there's always someone else there for you and you take them for granted. And school is so easy for you and you take that for granted. And everyone in your life gives you the benefit of the doubt. If you do something without considering someone else's feelings, well, you're probably just having a bad day, you poor dear. Forgive and forget if Parker is a jerk."

"Maybe that's because when I'm a jerk, it's a rare thing. You do jerky things as often as you breathe. People get tired of being your punching bag."

"That's what I'm talking about! You come into a room and you're given a chance to prove yourself. I come in and it's like everyone's already read my disciplinary file beforehand so no matter what I say or do, they're going to read sinister motives into it. I don't know how to be nice. Sue me."

"Oh, shut up. Everyone knows how to be nice. You know how you want to be treated, right? So that's how you treat others." Peter rolled his eyes and started looking for the first textbook.

"Yeah. Easy as pie." Flash smirked. He pushed aside the English book Parker had opened. "I'm good on English. Let's get math out of the way."

Peter was confused. "What do you mean, you're good on English?"

"I mean I kept up with the lesson plan while I was out. Just keeping the journal and reading and writing poetry. Wasn't much I could screw up there."

"You know your original poem is due tomorrow. Your journal poem."

"Yeah. I had plenty to write about the past couple of weeks. What?"

Peter was starting to blush. "Are you really done? Can I read it?"

"Yes and no. I'm not sharing it with the class."

"Um... Do you really know how to write poetry?" He was crimson now.

"I'm slow, not stupid. Everyone can write poetry. We're not all Robert Frost, but everyone can write. It doesn't have to be good, dude."

Peter nodded. "But how do you start? Like, how do you know what to say?"

Flash paused. "Are you asking me for help with your assignment that's due tomorrow? Peter Parker? Are you going to fail English if I don't help you?" He smiled widely.

Peter laid his head face down onto the tabletop. "I've told you how much I hate you, right?"

Flash patted him on the head. "Yeah, you have. Okay, let's get your thing out of the way first. Then we can slam dunk Algebra."

Peter raised and shook his head. "You go back and forth from doom and gloom to the conquering underdog so fast."

"I might have a condition." He shoved a blank sheet of paper in front of his tutor. "Okay, read through your journal entries for the semester and write down any recurring themes. You know, the things you focus the most on. Like yourself. And how great you are. And how everyone likes you."

Peter shook his head again. "I haven't exactly written much in my journal. I never know what to write."

"Okay. Well, jot down some dreams you've had lately."

Hmmm, being torn apart by lizard men and human octopuses? I don't think so. "I don't really dream. Or at least I don't remember them."

"Okay. How about a relationship or something that concerns you about the world or future plans or dreams or fears. Anything! What are you thinking about right now?"

"How much I hate poetry."

Flash laughed. "Okay! So write about it. How the hardest math and science classes are so easy you can ace them in your sleep, but you freak out over low-level poetry. You know, the kind a dumb jock can do."

"Let me read your poem. If it sucks, I'll feel better. In my mind, I've made you this master poet and I really don't know if I can handle you getting a better grade than me in anything."

Flash glared at him. "Whatever. I beat you in gym every quarter, jerk."

"Glorified recess doesn't count. Come on."

Flash pulled out a sheet of paper that had been folded and refolded numerous times. It had a few coffee stains- or was that blood?- on it and had words crossed out and scribbled in the margins. Peter groaned when he noticed that both sides of the paper were filled. "I'm not really giving you this to read. Understand? You're going to forget about it as soon as you're done."

"Fine. Work on reading Chapter Eleven in History in the meantime." His eyes found the title of Flash's poem and he started to read.

Lone Man

Awake to dark, and silence, and stillness, and peace.  
Muscle memory serves to dress and navigate through a cluttered room- are my eyes shut or blind?  
Creep down the hallway- I fear nothing.  
Walk through the front room- I fear nothing.  
Open the front door, step into the night.  
The first steps are warm-ups, the next are for real,  
Then finally freedom! and nothing can touch me.  
Never the same route, the Lone Man explores-  
The city is his now.  
And minute by minute, and mile by mile,  
The Lone Man sees nothing but mirrors around him.  
The Homeless Vet shivers despite the thin blanket.  
The Unfaithful Husband stirs on the Serta-foam park bench.  
The Used Woman spots him and saunters his way.  
The Ungrateful Child tags a wall with green and white.  
The Abandoned Dog growls as Lone Man flies by- not all brothers get along.  
The Hated Disease runs to the Lone Man and stops-  
puts his hand up-  
The mirrored window is cool to the touch-  
and Lone Man reflects, considers, and wonders-  
Could he pass through like Alice?  
Are evil things good things in Looking-Glass Land?  
Is ugliness beauty and bitterness love?  
Is hate adoration and pain a warm hug?  
The Lone Man's face breaks and he flees from his crime-  
Whether murder or mischief, just leave it behind  
and run on.  
Run faster and farther and meaner and harder  
But the house keeps pace.  
Then he's back at the front door with no one in sight.  
Turn your back on the sunrise and step back into Hell;  
To the clutter, the anger, the blame, and the smell.  
Alcohol. Blood. Rot. Vomit. Urine. Death. Death. Death.  
Close your eyes.  
Fold and die.  
Beat yourself with your fists, don't forget not to cry.  
Be a man.  
Go and die!  
Gag yourself with a gun, pull the trigger, and die!  
Shaking hand, sinking gut, close my eyes, and return  
to the dark of my room, to my Wonderland tomb,  
make believe it's a place safe from nightmares and tools.  
But it's not. Nowhere is.  
I can never run fast enough, far enough, be enough.  
That's enough! I've had enough.  
Shut the door, close my eyes, lay in bed, pray to die.  
Lone Man sleeps  
And he dreams  
Death is dark, and silence, and stillness, and peace.  
Life is pain.  
Pray for peace.

Peter stared at the paper long after he'd finished reading it. His hands were trembling and he thought his breathing had stopped. He set the paper down on the table and Flash took it back silently. "How's Chapter Eleven coming along?"

"I can finish reading this tonight if you want to start on Algebra."

"Sure." Peter agreed. "Do you have your calculator with you? We'll be working on graphs."

 

Peter walked home after school in silence. He was thinking about what Flash said about him taking things for granted. Was that true? He hadn't seen Aunt May all week, apart from a quick hello in the morning. She would be home at six o'clock tonight and he thought he'd try to cook dinner for her. Spaghetti can't be too hard, right? He could always go out as Spidey for a few hours after she went to bed. He jumped as he heard glass breaking and a store alarm scream behind him. He turned to see three large men in hoodies jump in through the broken storefront window of a jewelry store across the street. Well, Spidey first it is then!

"Come on, come on, just grab the diamonds and go!" One of the men shouted at another as Spider-Man webbed him to the floor where he stood.

"Diamonds with a hoodie, really? So passé." He webbed up the other two burglars as well, one with his hand still inside a display case. "Stay here, fellas, would you? I just have to make a quick call." Police sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer quickly. "Oop! Never mind, I believe your car is here. Gentlemen, it's been a delight. Really." He jumped out the broken window, shot a web to a light pole, and flew off.

Six hours later, Peter ran into his house dressed in his school clothes. "Aunt May, you home?"

"Yes, dear. I've been home for two hours already. Where have you been? There's some roast beef left over, would you care for a sandwich?" She called from her sewing room.

"Mmmm, yes ma'am! I was at school yet. I'll be staying late from now on, working on tutoring another student." He lost track of time. Again. "Sorry I'm late, Aunt May." He kissed her cheek and took the plate she handed him.

"Oh, I understand. It's a busy time in your life. I do remember now that Principal Cummings called me this morning and asked if I would be okay with your extra hours at school. Did you know you get a college credit for your time?"

"Yeah. A student leader something or other. It's only transferrable in the NYC public system."

"Were you thinking of going to school out of state?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I hadn't thought a whole lot about it lately. I was thinking Cambridge for a while, but-" He trailed off and took a bite of his sandwich. He didn't want to think any more about the future he won't have with Gwen Stacy.

Aunt May kissed the top of his head, understanding. "Well, it sure is gracious of you to devote your time into helping that Thompson boy. Are you two getting along again?"

"Again? We've never gotten along!"

"Don't be silly. You two were inseparable in grade school. You were so nice to welcome him to the neighborhood, and Ben and I were tickled that you had a boy your age to play with when you came to visit."

Peter shook his head. "Flash has mentioned something like that, too, but I don't remember that at all! Why do you suppose that is? Was it just one summer, maybe?"

"No, it was four or five years, I think. You always had so much going on, you probably just set those memories aside. We do that sometimes. As you get older- not that I'm older, mind you- you start to remember those forgotten memories again." She paused and laughed. "I remember one time the two of you went fishing, with Ben's new fishing pole, without his permission, and you came back soaked to the bone! While we were waiting for your clothes to dry in the dryer so Eugene could go back home, he spun a yarn so tall you could see over the house if you stood on it! Something about catching the largest fish in the bay and having to fight with a tiger shark that came up and grabbed it off your line. He had me in stitches!"

"Did you ever find out what really happened?"

"No, it didn't matter. As long as you made it home safe, we were glad to see you having fun with a friend. I suppose we became a little over-protective once you moved in with us. The two of you didn't play together as often."

"Well, people change. He's not really someone I enjoy hanging out with now. In fact, I'm having a hard time picturing us ever being friends. He must have really changed."

"Well, life has a way of reshaping you, that's for certain. He wasn't the only little boy that's changed as he's grown up." 

"You mean me?" Peter finished his sandwich and reached for his glass of milk as Aunt May made him another.

"Mm-hmm. Tragedy leaves a mark. You didn't like to leave us in the house for long after losing your parents. And we didn't want you out of our sight for long, either."

"And Flash? Maybe he changed when his mom died?"

Aunt May's hands slowed as she finished pouring the gravy on Peter's sandwich. "You remember that?"

He shrugged. "No, I don't. He said something about it at the hospital. When did she die? Was she sick?"

"You were nine or ten, I think. In fifth grade? It was an accident of some sort. We never did find out for sure. The media was kept in the dark, and with Harrison being on the police force, they had everything taken care of overnight it seemed. I believe Eugene was sent to stay with family upstate for a while. We didn't see him again until school started up in the fall. Maybe that's when you two grew apart." Her eyes were sad and oddly enough, Peter thought they seemed to be hiding something.

"Well, I don't remember any of that, but I do remember he changed a lot when we started eighth grade. I thought it was because he was hanging out with older boys."

"We are who we associate with. Finish up and put your plate in the sink. I'm going to get these old bones to bed. I work early in the morning, so breakfast is on your own. Bring a roast beef to school if you don't want what they're serving."

"No way, tomorrow is chicken nugget day! Sometimes they come shaped like dinosaurs."

Aunt May giggled. "Good night, dear heart."

"Night, Aunt May. Sweet dreams." He watched her ascend the stairs. Sweet dreams. He smiled and carried his plate to the sink. He'd wash the dishes for her, that would be a thoughtful thing. Dreams, dreams... oh, no. He still had to write his poem for first track tomorrow! He groaned and splashed some water on his face. He'll do the dishes another night.

 

"Thank you to those who shared your poems and to those who gave me permission to share yours anonymously. I think we only have time for one, and then we'll try to pick it apart a little. This is called 'Lone Man'. It is pretty graphic, so if anyone is sensitive, they may step out into the hall for a while." Ms. Hartche cleared her throat and began reading.

Peter snuck a peek at Flash, who seemed to be listening as intently as the rest of the class. There was no sign that he'd ever heard this poem before. Maybe he did learn some acting skills during his time in Drama. He watched everyone else's faces as they got lost in the dark imagery of the anonymous poem. Ms. Hartche's voice wavered a bit as she came to the end. "...Life is pain. Pray for peace." She set the paper down, it was typed, Peter noticed, and wiped a finger across each eye. "Initial thoughts?"

"That was really sad." Candice said from the front row.

"What was sad about it?" Ms. Hartche pressed.

"It sounded like the author has just given up on life. Like they don't have anything to live for?"

"I thought it was a horror story." Keith interjected from the back.

"How so?" Ms. Hartche asked and Peter noticed Flash grin slightly.

"Well, it said something about he's tied to the house. I thought that he was trying to run away from the house but it made him come back, like it wants to keep him."

"Yeah!" Misty chimed in. "I could see that! It had references to Alice in Wonderland, and remember how in Wonderland if you wanted to get close to something, you had to run away from it? That's neat!"

"Okay, but did Wonderland make Alice want to kill herself?" Annie Stevens asked, disgustedly. "I hope this wasn't autobiographical."

"What else did we see?" Ms. Hartche looked around the room. "Carter?"

"Um, the first line and a line near the end were repeated. How did that go?"

Ms. Hartche referred to her paper. "'Awake to dark, and silence, and stillness, and peace.' And at the end, 'Death is dark, and silence, and stillness, and peace.' Hmm. Good observation. What do you glean from the repetition?"

"Well, you said repetition is used to emphasize that something is important, so that we don't miss it. Like in Hebrew poetry. So, I think either this guy thinks there's no difference between being awake and being dead, or maybe we can use Keith's horror story theory and say the Lone Man is already dead. Like maybe we find out he's a ghost that's haunting this house."

"Interesting. Anyone else?"

"I was confused about the window. He broke the window, right? Like he broke his reflection? And then it says something about murder and mayhem?" Kerry asked.

"That is a very telling part, I think. Peter, will you read from here?" She handed him the paper and pointed at a line.

He took a deep breath. "'And minute by minute, and mile by mile, the Lone Man sees nothing but mirrors around him. The Homeless Vet shivers despite the thin blanket. The Unfaithful Husband stirs on the Serta-foam park bench. The Used Woman spots him and saunters his way. The Ungrateful Child tags a wall with green and white. The Abandoned Dog growls as Lone Man flies by. Not all brothers get along. The Hated Disease runs to the Lone Man and stops, puts his hand up. The mirrored window is cool to the touch. And Lone Man reflects, considers, and wonders. Could he pass through like Alice? Are evil things good things in Looking-Glass Land? Is ugliness beauty and bitterness love? Is hate adoration and pain a warm hug? The Lone Man's face breaks and he flees from his crime. Whether murder or mischief, just leave it behind and run on...'"

"What is that about, Peter?"

"Um, I think each of these people are different facets of how Lone Man sees himself. He's homeless, unfaithful, used, ungrateful, abandoned, and maybe he's hoping these traits would be the opposite in a different world. Like somewhere he could be wanted and loved and good."

"So the window is a mirror and he hates what he sees so he breaks it and it's either mischief if it's just glass, but if it's an entrance to another world, then he's committed murder because he killed the mirror man." Annie offered.

"Yeah, but the mirror guy was called the hated disease. I thought the mirror world was the good world?" Keith asked.

"Which one is the mirror world? Remember, 'the Lone Man sees nothing but mirrors around him'." Ms. Hartche questioned.

"Okay, so if the homeless man and the dog and the kid are things Lone Man sees in himself, why does he see a woman?" A boy in the back asked, scratching his head.

"Flash?" Ms. Hartche asked.

Flash shrugged. "Maybe that's not the important part. She's connected to the unfaithful husband on the park bench and sees a weakness in him she can exploit, just as someone had exploited hers because she's a used woman. So the abused abuse."

Misty raised her hand. "Do you think this guy broke his reflection because he wants to kill himself? Like he's running away from these disgusting parts of himself to realize in the Hated Disease that that's all he is, and that's why he goes back to the house. Because there's already death in the house, so it'd be easy to die there." Everyone jumped as the buzzer to signal the end of the track sounded.

"Excellent discussion, everyone! Thank you again for sharing your poems. Thursday will be a bit of a quiz, nothing to worry about. Peter, Flash, stay for a bit, please." Ms. Hartche smiled at Flash. "Well, I guess you're staying for next track, anyway. Do you have an argument prepared for introduction to debate?" Flash nodded and Peter approached the podium. "Peter, fine poem. I'd like to see you flesh it out a bit before turning it in. I'll give you until Monday?" She handed his paper back to him.

"Sure, I'll see what I can do." He mumbled.

Ms. Hartche smiled. "The best work is produced in torment. Fight on." She waited for Peter to leave before turning to Flash. She placed a hand on his arm gently. "That was absolutely brilliant, Flash. How did it feel to write?"

He shrugged. "I didn't feel anything, really. I mean, it was fine, I didn't mind it. It was pretty easy, actually. I used your freestyle method and then just fixed a few things later."

"Free writing." He nodded in agreement. "Well, keep digging deep. Writing your thoughts and feelings can be a liberating thing. Remember the Count? When you can create, you can be free even in prison."

Flash nodded his thanks to her. He paused a while before speaking. "What good is feeling free if you're still in prison? Who cares if you're happy when you're walking to the gallows? You're still going to end up dead."

Ms. Hartche's eyes fell slightly. "I think it's a body vs. spirit concept, Flash." He nodded and took his seat as the rest of the class started filing noisily in.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this poem a few years ago, for Flash Thompson, after reading a Spider-Man comic book that sparked the idea that Flash had more issues than we knew about. I've got nowhere else to put it, so I'm glad to include it here. And to have a discussion about it, no less. Bonus!


	22. No Way Out

Flash sat in his car in the school parking lot. He and Parker had just finished up their tutoring session and it was approaching 7:00. There had got to be some kind of medical research proving that too much time spent in a school was actually detrimental to one's health. He had offered Parker a ride home, but the other boy was going to walk his aunt home from the hospital. So here he sat. He was pretty sure he was going to Matt's again, but since his dad had been at the school the day before, Flash wondered if he was expected to go home. He wasn't ready to go home. His body still ached through his core, and he was pretty sure his dad's post-work roughhousing was the last thing his healing bones needed. What if he didn't go home and then was in more trouble because of that? Flash gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands at twelve o'clock and rested his forehead against his knuckles. His brain stopped functioning properly somewhere between Algebra and History. He groaned as his phone started vibrating in his front jeans pocket. He had to move to dig it out, and moving was bad. Finally, after he thought he'd be too late and it would go to voicemail, he wrested the phone free and glanced at the caller ID before answering. Unknown. "Hello?"

"Leave the car and get in." The voice was so deep, it sounded like a bass octave being run through a voice modulator. Flash recognized it immediately. He looked up and watched a jet black stretch Hummer with tinted windows pull into the parking lot of the school and stop beside Flash's car.

"Shit." Flash muttered under his breath and felt his palms begin to sweat. There was nowhere he could go now. He opened his driverside door and climbed out slowly, leaving his backpack in the passenger seat. He wouldn't be needing his textbooks tonight. He closed the door to his Mustang and opened the back door of the Hummer, climbing in and closing it slowly behind him.

 

"He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, the super arachnidic boy, if you please..." 'Arachnidic'? Hmm...he'd spent so much time teaching Flash simple addition that he may have lost his grasp on the English language! Anyhoo. Peter was glad to be free of the high school and back into action as Spider-Man. He spotted three shady-looking guys follow a young couple into an alley and swung quickly their way, singing. "He webs up the street thugs like thwip, one, two, three." And he did. "And lets the cops take them away!" He bowed to the group as his song ended, but they just stared at him. "I'll call iTunes later about having that available to purchase." He waved and jumped up onto the wall, scrambling the rest of the way to the roof. He'd been slinging around Manhatten for a couple of hours, and the sun was beginning to set. Aunt May was working the night shift this week and Peter wondered what MJ might be up to as he pulled his phone out of his backpack that he'd stowed on the roof earlier. "Well, Mr. Thompson, where did you run off to tonight?" He pulled up his tracker app and frowned in confusion. Promising himself he'd keep tabs on his classmate after last week's disappearance, Peter had placed a GPS tab in one of the boy's sneakers. So as long as Flash had his shoes on, and judging by their appearance he always had his shoes on, the superhero could keep tabs on his bully. Last night, Spider-Man checked in on him in an apartment in Hell's Kitchen that turned out to be the home of Matt Murdock, a blind lawyer. The guy had a near-perfect win record, but ran a pro bono operation for the disenfranchised, so he didn't have the nicest digs around. Not even for Hell's Kitchen nice. But Flash seemed at home and the two were laughing over pizza and a game of catch with a football in the kitchen/living/bed room when he left them. Peter wondered what their connection was. Tonight, however, he was more interested in finding Flash's new hideout. It appeared to be right in the heart of downtown Manhatten. He tucked his phone into his waistband and dove off the roof.

 

"How disappointed in you am I?" The low voice asked quietly from behind a large mahogany desk. The only light in the room came from a green-shaded banker's lamp that sat on the corner of the desk. The desk was covered by a heavy sheet of glass, under which lay photos and various memorabilia.

"Very?" Flash offered and shifted in the uncomfortable leather chair on the other side of the desk. He couldn't see the man's face clearly, but he could guess the expression from the tightness of his voice and the stillness of his large hands. They were clasped together tightly on the desktop. A stranger might call it a prayerful pose, but Flash knew it was really a gesture of restraint. The way he was taught to walk through a pawn shop as a child, so he wouldn't be suspected of stealing. The light from the desklamp glared off of the polished gold rings on several fingers of the man's hands. Three on the right, one on the left. Sapphire, emerald, ruby, diamond, from the right pinky to the left ring finger. Flash had stared at those hands for hours of his life, sometimes in hope and sometimes in fear, but always in awe.

"In what am I very disappointed?" The 'this time' was silent but inherent.

"I stirred things up again." He offered the 'again' as an olive branch. "You told me to practice patience and keep quiet and I couldn't do it."

"Couldn't?"

"Didn't?" Flash offered, although he meant couldn't.

"Eugene." The man sighed heavily and stood, his hands now laying flat, palms down, on his desktop. "Do you realize how much I do for you?" Flash shrugged. "Of course you don't. One day I'll show you, and when you see, you will know." He stopped. "I hope you will know. I hope you will understand that everything I've done I've done for you. To keep you safe."

Flash felt his anger rise and he quickly looked away from his uncle. "You're the most powerful man in New York, maybe in the country. I feel like if you wanted to keep me safe, you'd keep me safe."

"The pain I suffered at the hands of my father made me the man I am today. Through your father's failings, you will be a great man." 

"Oh, my God." Flash couldn't help rolling his eyes. "It isn't 1924 anymore."

"You're joking." The mood in the room shifted.

Flash shrugged. "Whatever. I don't want to do the math."

"I'm thirty five years old. My father wasn't even alive in the '20's." He glared in annoyance as his phone rang. He picked it up from his desk. "I said no interruptions." Pause. "Really." He smiled victoriously. "Really?" Now he was curious. "Leave him be. Let's see what he wants." He put down the phone and opened his laptop. "Turn the lights on on your way out."

Flash rose to his feet in surprise. "Where am I going?"

"To your room. We'll meet with Harrison tomorrow."

"Great." He walked toward the doorway and pressed the light switch. He turned back briefly before leaving his uncle staring curiously at his computer screen.

In the hall, the security team was on high alert, with two armed men at every doorway. They weren't military-looking men wearing bulletproof vests and tactical gear. Instead, they were tough-looking guys in T-shirts and heavy jewelry, chains and gold, holding Glock 9s and Mag 57s. Thugs with guns, but getting paid, Flash thought disgustedly. He hated the idea of sleeping with the hallway filled with these guys, but he was safe in his uncle's house. He was untouchable by order of Wilson Fisk, and no one dared to even think of crossing the Kingpin. 

Wilson Fisk wasn't really Flash's uncle, not by blood. There were a few times in Flash's young life that he had thought, or maybe hoped, Uncle Wilson was actually his father, but his resemblance to Harrison grew to be too obvious and his mother's devotion to Harrison too unquestionable. He didn't know how his father and uncle met or became friends, but he had been told countless times about how his mother had come into their lives. They were all in school together at Midtown High. It wasn't Midtown Science High quite yet, and they still had the old system of having seven fifty-minute class periods five days a week, the same schedule repeated daily. Real old school. Harrison had failed his senior year evaluation and had to repeat, purposely he claimed so he could lead the football team to one more championship, and Wilson was starting his senior year, when Rosie came in to the school as a freshman. Wilson had fallen in love with her immediately, showering her with anonymous love poems slipped into her locker and offering her compliment after compliment. She was gracious, but she had big plans for her high school career. She wanted to be the youngest head cheerleader ever. The best way to do that, she was told, was to get in good with the team captain, Harrison Thompson. Wilson looked utterly crestfallen when he told Flash how the beautiful fourteen-year old would follow his best friend around while he pined after her. Finally, Harrison accepted the girl's advances and the rest, Wilson said, was a fate sealed. Rosie was the cheer captain for two months, until she collapsed on the sidelines at a game one night and after they'd rushed her to the hospital, they'd discovered she was pregnant. Rosie was terrified, Harrison was furious, and Wilson was heartbroken. Flash remembered finding his uncle crying at his desk one day, staring at the photos and a letter he kept under the glass. Flash was eleven and his mother had been dead for a year.

"What's wrong, Uncle Wilson?" he had asked. His uncle was an emotional man, but it was strange to see him weeping like a child in his massive body. Flash himself hadn't cried since he was eight years old.

"Your mother was the most beautiful creature the world has ever known, do you realize that?" Wilson monotoned.

Flash shrugged. "Yeah, she's pretty in those pictures you have of her. She was pretty when she laughed."

"You can't understand. You're too young." He paused and continued staring at his desk. "They wanted to kill you, you know. Before you were born. I wouldn't let them."

"I know. You told me before." Flash felt his stomach turn into a rock. Even though his father hit him and was constantly yelling insults at him, and his mother wouldn't even look at him out of disgust, it still hurt to think that his own parents actually wanted him dead.

"I wouldn't let her, because you were a part of her. And she's a part of you." He lifted his teary eyes to the boy. "That's why I love you. Because I loved her. You're all I have left of her."

Flash's memory was interrupted by a man rushing past him. "Mr. Fisk, sir, he's climbing down the wall! He's on the side of the building!" What the heck?

"Get in your room, kid, we've got a serious issue here." A thug in a leather jacket gave Flash a shove.

"You mean you guys are screwing something simple up? Hard to believe." He smirked as the thug scowled.

"Just get in your room, willya?"

"Eugene, come to me!" Wilson thundered from his office down the hall. Flash shrugged at the leather-jacketed man and hurried back to his uncle. "Look at this. What is this?"

His uncle was staring in awe at something stuck to the outside of his office window. "That's Spider-Man." he answered easily.

 

Spider-Man landed on top of Fisk Tower and whooped. "No way! He's at his uncle's!" He had discovered by snooping through Flash's school file that his emergency contact was named Wilson Fisk, and at the hospital Flash had let it slip that his uncle Wilson was in Vienna temporarily. He hadn't actually confirmed that his uncle was THE Wilson Fisk, but how many could there be? And now his GPS tracker was in one of Fisk's buildings? In the original Fisk Tower to be exact? All the investigative reporters at The Bugle were always going on and on about 'The Kingpin of Crime', as J. Jonah dubbed him. According to them, Fisk was behind the majority of the crime in New York, from gangs to drugs to dirty cops. There were even a couple of city reporters that died under suspicious circumstances while investigating connections between crime waves a few years back. Peter thought this Kingpin was probably an urban myth, but he got a kick out of it anyway. It was like a local Bigfoot! Spider-Man looked around for an entrance, but found none. No door, no vent shafts, no skylight. There was light coming from a few windows, however. He crawled over the side of the building and started toward one of the lit windows. Looked like a kitchen. Boring. The next one was a hallway. And then another hallway. And then an office. The walls were lined with photos and framed newspaper clippings. A large man sat at a large desk with his back to the window, staring at a computer screen. On the screen was a picture of what appeared to be a rooftop helipad. The man at the desk was talking into his phone, unmoving. He was bald and wore a crisp white suit with shiny black shoes and rings on his fingers. His ears were pierced and both held diamond studs. Spider-Man could see this clearly, because the man had turned around, stood from his chair, and was staring at the wall-crawler through the window. Spidey was face to face with the Kingpin of New York! Wow. Now the man was asking a question, pointing at Spidey, to a young man who had just entered the room. Spider-Man turned his gaze to read Flash Thompson's lips as he said, 'Spider-Man'.


	23. If Wishes Were Horses

"Parker! Parker! Hey!" Peter stopped his skateboard in the middle of the sidewalk and turned, confused. Flash Thompson was jogging up to him, holding his right hand to his left side.

"Where did you come from? Work?" Peter pretended he didn't know Flash had been in Fisk Tower the night before. He thought he saw pain flash across his classmate's face. Flash waved him off.

"You'll never believe who I saw last night." Peter picked up his deck as they walked side by side. "I was at my uncle's apartment, and we looked out the window, we're on the seventy-eighth floor, and right outside, hanging off the window, is Spider-Man!"

"Oh. Neat." Peter replied, unimpressed.

"Oh, come on! Even if you don't like the guy, you've got to admit that's cool. Flying around town, climbing up buildings and stuff? Stopping city buses with his bare hands? Come on."

Peter shrugged. "You say cool, I say freaky."

"Right. You're probably scared of heights, too, huh?"

"When you say you were on the seventy-eighth floor at your uncle's, you mean Wilson Fisk then?"

Flash stuttered. "I didn't say that!"

"You did. Was it your Uncle Thompson's? Or your mom's brother?" he prodded.

"My parents were both only children."

"Then how is Fisk your uncle?"

Flash sighed. "Don't worry about it. The point is, you don't know how cool Spider-Man is because you hang out at the Daily Loser too much."

Peter rolled his eyes. "J. Jonah Jameson seeing Spider-Man for the menace he is doesn't make him a loser. It makes him right."

"Stop it. I know you know better. Whatever happened with Gwen wasn't his fault. Blame the monster."

"You weren't there." Peter argued and continued on in silence for several blocks. "You have practice after school?" Flash nodded. "Want to come to my house after? We can study over dinner."

"No, I don't want to go to your house. We can get a pie at Frank's."

Peter shook his head in disagreement. "I don't have any money."

"He might give us a few free slices if we stay and clean up when he closes."

"Doesn't he close at like two in the morning?!"

"Not anymore. Not since he got held up that last time."

Peter remembered hearing the call over his police scanner, but he was three miles away fighting Doctor Octopus. The police handled it and Peter thought that was that. "What was different about the last time?"

Flash shrugged. "Nothing really. Just that the guys were really calm and seemed willing to kill anyone they had to. Frank said he doubted pizza was worth his life." Francisco Cantello had immigrated from Italy forty-odd years ago. He worked at a bar for fifteen years until the owner retired and, not having any children of his own, offered to sell the place to his best worker. 'Frank', as they called him, remodeled over the years until it was more pizzeria than bar and didn't lose a single customer. Except for Rip Tanner, a retired Marine that spent most of his days and nights reminiscing in the corner booth until one night he reminisced himself right to sleep and never woke up. Frank named a drink after him out of respect.

"I guess we can try that." More silence followed them for the next few blocks. Peter opened his mouth three times before speaking. "So, have you been staying at your uncle's all week? Is that where you disappeared to?"

"No, just last night." Flash mumbled, his good mood gone.

"Because he was out of the country." Flash didn't respond. "Away on business? Good, legal business?" He noticed a ghost of a smirk- or was it a cringe?- cross Flash's face.

Flash stopped walking and whirled toward Peter, knocking him slightly off balance. "Didn't I say to drop it? What's your obsession with him, anyway?"

Peter shrugged. "Local boy turned millionaire. Why wouldn't I be curious?" Flash didn't buy it. "Look, maybe I want to be more than just a photographer and web guy at The Bugle. Getting an interview with Wilson Fisk would look pretty good on a resumé."

"Stay away from him. He doesn't like to be bothered."

"Introduce me?"

"Stay away from him, Parker. I mean it. He's not a guy you want to get to know." Flash turned and started back down the sidewalk.

"So what's your obsession with Spider-Man?" Peter jogged to catch up with his classmate.

"Local boy turned superhero. What's not to like?" Flash shrugged.

"That's a lot of assumption."

"He hangs solely around Manhatten. You think he's from L.A.?"

"Okay, you may be right. But he's not the only superhero around. Why him?"

"He's ours. He's local, he's street-level, and he does what he does without looking for attention and despite the media and police criticizing him. He just does what he does." He paused. "Him, I'd love to meet."

"I guess that interview would look pretty good on a resumé, too."

"Hey, it'd be the only issue of The Daily Bugle I'd buy." Flash smirked and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. They walked another two blocks in amiable silence.

"So if I promise to stay away from Fisk, will you tell me how he's your uncle?"

"Why do you care so much?"

"It's like finding out the new kid in the neighborhood's uncle is George Steinbrenner."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I grew up hearing his name all over the news. I remember telling my dad one time that I wanted to be rich and famous like him. My dad didn't say anything, but got kind of a disappointed look in his eyes and changed the subject. I figured that meant it was out of my reach. Like dreaming about playing for the Yankees."

"Thought you were a Mets fan."

"Yeah. But that doesn't mean I would turn down tickets to a Yanks game." He was walking slightly ahead of Flash when the larger boy grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and drug him towards the nearest subway entrance. "What are you doing? We're going to be late for school."

"Field trip." They jogged down to the platform and waited with the rest of the New Yorkers heading across town.

"You can't afford to miss any more days, Flash."

"I don't think it'll matter in the end."

"Okay, Mr. Poe."

"Ooh, you know a poet. Next thing you know you'll be acing that limerick test."

Peter couldn't stop the wave of panic. "Do we have a test in English?"

"Relax. No." The subway train screeched to a halt in front of them and they stepped into the nearest car. They didn't bother trying to get a seat and both leaned against a pole as the train took off. "What do you think will happen if you end up with a B in English?"

"I think my GPA will take a dive and I can kiss my Honors goodbye, that's what!"

"Why do you care so much?"

"Good grades, good scholarships, good school, good job. Why don't you care more?"

"More than not at all?" Flash shrugged. Five long minutes went by until the train ground to a stop. "Come on." Flash led the way off the train and up the stairs.

"Hell's Kitchen? Are you trying to get me killed?"

"You got any cash on you?"

"No. I don't have any cash not on me, either."

"Then you'll be fine. I want to show you somewhere."

Peter assumed they were heading to Matthew Murdock's apartment. At least then he could scratch that question off his list. "Since when do you frequent Hell's Kitchen?"

Flash shot him a curious look. "You mean home?"

"Huh?"

"This is where I'm from, man." Peter followed his classmate in silence until they came to a gym. Flash opened a door that had 'Battlin' Jack's' stenciled on it and motioned for the smaller boy to enter. The inside was dark and smelled like old leather, sweat, and cigars. There was a boxing ring in the middle of the room and punching bags hanging around the perimeter. "Look at that wall." He pointed to a wall lined with brass name plates.

"What are those?" Peter's question wasn't answered as Flash slipped away down a dark hallway. He squinted at the names on the wall. Irish Joe Conlin 1917. Smiling Stan Liebowitscz 1918. Jabbing Joe Morris 1919. He skipped a few rows. Snappy Sam Leroy 1954. Handsome George Peterson 1955. Peter looked around the gym, but Flash was nowhere in sight. Steppin' Stefan Belladeau 1972. Happy Harold Hogan 1973. Battlin' Jack Murdock 1974. Then he saw it. Wilson 'The Kingpin' Fisk 1999. And just above it Harrison 'The Tank' Thompson 1998.

"Found them?" Flash's voice startled Peter. "Everyone who was anyone started here. The wall's just for champions, but you can bet if they came from New York, they came from here."

"Your dad and Fisk fought together? That's how they met?"

Flash shook his head. "They all boxed, yeah, but this place isn't just a gym. This was the epicenter. No deal went down that didn't go down here."

Peter was thoroughly confused. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about the City, man! All these guys grew up on these streets, our streets, and they did what they had to to get by and then they kept doing it because they liked it. Everything we pay for today, these assholes started it." He stared at the wall, but Peter could follow his gaze to two nameplates. "Every once in a while, a guy tries to get out, but the City never lets them. Like Jack."

"Battling Jack?" Peter sat down on a stack of mats and stared at Flash, who stood with his hands in his pockets.

"They made their money, worked out deals, screwed people over with these fights. Jack was just another guy that came in to train and got into boxing because he liked it and was good at it. Then he had a son he had to take care of, a bunch of medical bills. They had him start throwing fights to make more money." Flash paused. "And when he decided to finally stand up for himself, they killed him."

Peter's head whipped up to face Flash. "What? Who?"

Flash shrugged. "Who cares? The point got across. After that, there was a power grab and the Kingpin came out on top. He's been more or less running things since then."

"The Kingpin was his boxing name?"

Flash nodded. "Everyone's got a nickname around here. You grow up in fear of doing something stupid and getting stuck with a name like Pastepot Pete or something."

"Is that a real one?" Peter couldn't help but snicker.

Flash smirked and nodded. "Glue eater. My dad and Uncle Wilson grew up here together, looking up to these guys as heroes and going back home to their shitty lives. This was an escape. It was mine, too, from time to time. I used to want to see my name on this wall, next to my dad's." He scoffed in disgust. "Five year-olds are idiots."

"Flash." Peter started softly. "Your dad, he-"

"He graduated and went to college and the police academy. Uncle Wilson stayed with me and my mom until he was done. He taught me how to walk, talk, read. Then my dad came back and slapped me back to stupid." He punched the wall and turned to face Peter. "My uncle is not a nice man. But I'd take him over my dad any day."

"Are they still friends?"

Flash shrugged. "As much as they ever were, I guess. It's complicated. They use each other." He sat down on the boxing ring and leaned back against the ropes.

After a few minutes, Peter stood. "I guess I wasn't looking for the man past the celebrity. I'm sorry, Flash." The blonde looked up at Peter in confusion. "I never looked for the man past the bully, either."

Flash stood and started towards the front door. "Shut up, Parker." He opened the door and held it for Peter. "Are you going to stay away from him?"

"I'll keep my word. As far as I'm concerned, Wilson Fisk is just another rich guy."

"Attaboy, Parker." He slapped the smaller boy hard on the butt as they stepped back out into the bright sunlight.

Peter shook his head. "God, jocks are weird." Flash just smiled in response. "Do you come back here often?"

"Not too often. I was here last week, staying with a friend."

"Oh, really?" Peter acted like he hadn't known. He was surprised by Flash's honesty. "Who's that?"

"Matt Murdock. Battlin' Jack's son. He's a lawyer now. We lived down the hall from them. I was at their place a lot. Matt's ten years older than us."

"So you knew one of your boxing heroes. That's cool."

"He was a good guy. We moved not too long after he was killed. I remember his hands mostly. Big, strong, and rough, but really gentle. He'd throw me way up in the air and catch me. It felt like I was flying. It was so awesome."

Peter smiled at the sight of Flash's wide grin. "My Uncle Ben used to do that to me. Aunt May would freak out every time like he was going to drop me." They heard a police siren whoop behind them and Peter felt Flash tense up as they stopped walking. 

"Aren't you fellas supposed to be in school?"

The boys turned to face the officer. Flash was the quickest with a lie. "We're on a Career Day assignment. We're job shadowing at Nelson and Murdock starting at eight o'clock."

The officer didn't buy it for a second. "Yeah? You're both gonna be lawyers someday?"

"He's going to be a lawyer. I'm going to be a social worker." Flash pointed to Peter and then himself. 

"Really. Well, you're about to be late for your first day. How bout I give you a lift?" 

Peter paled and Flash shrugged. "Sure, that'd be great, Officer! Hey, Pete, I bet no one else will get to start their report with a police escort." The officer opened the back door and both boys climbed in.

"Nelson and Murdock, huh?" The officer asked as he climbed in behind the steering wheel and closed his own door.

"Yes, sir." Flash agreed and smiled widely as Peter sighed.

The patrol car drove down increasingly dilapidated streets and stopped in front of a tenement with stained walls. The officer stepped out of the vehicle and opened the back door for the boys. "If it's alright with you, I'll just go ahead and walk you fellas in."

"That'd be great, sir. Thank you!" Flash was sure putting it on. They followed the officer up the stairs and into the building. At the end of the hall, a door stood open and the officer led the boys right in.

"May I help you?" A blonde woman sitting at a desk asked.

"You looking for a couple of interns?" The officer removed his cap and smirked at the confused expression on the woman's face.

"I don't... Foggy?" she called to a man in the office to their right.

"They're here for me." A voice said from the other office. "Sorry, Karen. I forgot to tell you."

Peter saw the man who had been throwing a football in his apartment with Flash the other night. He was wearing a suit and a sheepish smile now, along with dark sunglasses. In his hand was a white stick that looked an awful lot like the kind of stick blind people use. "Have fun, boys." The officer put his cap back on as he turned around and walked back down the hallway.

"Why aren't you in school, Flash?" Matt asked sternly.

Flash shrugged. "We were just taking the scenic route."

"That's quite a detour. What classes are you missing?" Now he was looking at Peter.

"AP Algebra." Peter glanced at the clock and his heart sank. "And Lab Science."

"You must be the tutor. Peter Parker? Have we met before?"

Peter shook his head in the negative and Flash elbowed him sharply. "Um, no we haven't. Sir."

The lawyer smirked and turned to the woman at the desk. She had gone back to typing. "Karen, card the man, please."

Karen rolled her eyes and held a business card out to Peter. "He'd love for me to whip this across the room and into your hands, but I'm a normal person."

"Foggy would have done it." Matt replied sourly as Peter stepped forward and took the card from Karen's small hand.

"Correction." A man with shoulder-length blonde hair stepped into the room. "I would have tried, sure. But I would, of course, fail miserably."

"Well, with an attitude like that..." He finally turned to Flash. "Can we talk in private?"

"Sure. Parker, Foggy loves Twenty Questions." He clapped Peter on his shoulder and followed Matt into his office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Peter turned to Foggy.

"What do you know about Wilson Fisk?" Foggy and Karen exchanged wide-eyed looks.


	24. Another Day

"What's up?" Flash flopped down in a chair in front of Matt's desk.

"Why is your schoolmate asking my business partners about Wilson Fisk?"

Flash raised an eyebrow. "He said he was done with it. I took him to the gym."

"Does he know how dangerous the man is?"

Flash sighed. "Well, I didn't tell him everything. We're not exactly friends."

"That's probably for the best for now." He rested his hand on Flash's shoulder. "I spent some time at the burn site last night."

"Did you find anything?" Flash turned his blue eyes up towards his friend. He didn't bother trying to hide the emotion in his eyes. He knew the blind man was reading his reaction by his heart rate, breathing, and body temp. The guy was amazing.

"There were chains." Matt tightened his grip as Flash stopped breathing momentarily. "It looks like the front and back doors were chained and Molotov cocktails were thrown in through the windows. The oxygen accelerated the fire, and of course it was an old building. It spread fast. The smoke would have killed them before the second floor lit up. I'm sure they didn't suffer." Flash nodded slowly. "The boys have an aunt and uncle in South Korea that are going to come to the States when school is out. Until then, the boys will continue on at their boarding schools."

"No witnesses, I suppose."

"You know they would have only seen local thugs."

"Yeah."

"So what did Fisk want last night?" Matt walked around his desk and sat in his chair.

"He's in town for a while. Tried to recruit me again."

"As a son or surrogate?"

"No one wants me as a son." He paused. "He's drawn Spider-Man's interest. Not sure how or why. Do you know him?"

"We've crossed paths. Let's go." He stood and grabbed his cane. "Your friend has stressed out Foggy and gotten far too much info from Karen."

"He wants to be a reporter." Flash also rose and followed Matt to the door.

"That explains why he and Karen seem to be connecting so well." He opened the door and stepped into the lobby. "Sorry for taking so much of your friend's time, Peter."

Peter looked up from the file he and Karen were talking over. "Huh? Oh, no. No problem. I didn't even notice."

"Nice." Flash looked at the clock hanging above the entrance door. "Think we can make it back for lunch, or do you want to grab something before we go?"

"We're close to that Korean grocery store, right? We could stop there before jumping on the subway." He smiled his thanks at Karen and straightened up.

"You mean Kim's?" Foggy stepped back into the room. "That burned down a few days ago. You could grab a sandwich at Mick's, though. Those suckers'll feed you for a week." He threw a file folder at Matt, who caught it deftly. "Ready for that deposition, partner?"

"Yes, Foggy, thank you. Karen, we'll be back before four. Flash, Peter, do you need a ride to school?"

"Nah, we'll go underground." Flash pointedly ignored the stunned look Peter was casting his way.

"After you stop by Mick's." Foggy interjected.

"After we stop by Mick's. Thanks, Matt." Flash shook Matt's hand and the lawyer pulled him in for a quick firm hug.

"Come for supper tonight?"

Flash grimaced. "I think I have plans. I'll try to call, though. Thank you. See you, Karen, Foggy." He briefly waved on his way out as Peter followed him.

Peter waited until they were on the sidewalk to say anything. "Flash, I didn't know about the store. Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't realize we were in the current events sharing stage in our relationship." He shrugged when Peter just glared. "It didn't come up. I'm unemployed, whatever. Now I have more time to work on failing my classes."

Peter was silent until they reached Mick's Meats deli. He eyed a sleepy-looking mutt that was laying in a corner. "Man, this place smells great. Too bad I have zero money."

"It's on Matt." Flash stepped up to the counter and laid a twenty dollar bill down in front of a large dark-haired man who was chopping up a part of some dead animal with a meat cleaver. "Hey, Mick. How about a couple sandwiches to go?"

The man looked at his dog, then Peter, then Flash. "Who's your boyfriend?"

Peter was stricken with embarrassment while Flash huffed out a quick laugh. "What do you want, Pete? I'll take a loaded turkey on sourdough." Mick nodded and wiped his hands on his apron as he waited for Peter's answer.

"Um, pastrami on rye, please? With mustard?"

"Are you sure?" The man barked and turned to walk to the bread rack at the other end of the counter.

"Calm down. You're so high-strung all the time."

Peter responded defensively to his amused classmate. "Sorry, it's just that I don't think this place is up to the health code."

"Mick's got his own code." Flash grinned and his eyes twinkled. "So what were you and Karen talking about?"

Peter shrugged. "She was just showing me an article a coworker of hers wrote. She writes for the Bulletin. Did you know she was a reporter?"

"I don't know her too well. She's only been working for Matt and Foggy for a year or so. Cute though, huh?"

"Yeah." Peter paused. "How did Matt catch that file from Foggy? When he threw it at him? He is blind, right?" He was thinking about the game of toss football he'd spied in on.

"Matt's amazing. He's been blind since he was thirteen or something, but he can get around better than you. Heck, better than me." He shrugged. "He says his other senses got better when his sight disappeared. So don't go whispering around in the next room and think he can't hear you. He can."

Peter was about to respond when Mick's voice rumbled over the counter. "Hey, cutie, you want pepper or not?"

"Um, sure, thank you. My name is Peter."

"That's great, Princess." He went back to his sandwiches.

Peter turned back to Flash. "Oh my god. You grew up here? No wonder you are the way you are."

Flash shook his head. "We moved to Queens when I was seven. But I guess I've always been around tough guys, yeah. Pretty different from your hippie raising, huh?"

"My parents weren't hippies."

"Your aunt and uncle. All feelings first and world peace and what not."

Peter didn't respond. He was grateful for his upbringing, but he thought he was starting to see how very different it was than Flash's.

 

Spider-Man ran along the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen, heading towards Koreatown. It was already ten o'clock, but Peter knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep until he investigated the fire that happened while Flash was out of school for a week. Maybe his cracked sternum wasn't what kept him away; maybe his grief over the loss of the store was. He got to the location and gasped. Half the block was gone. It looked like four buildings were decimated, with the grocery store as the center.

"What are you doing here?" The voice was quiet, but in the night's stillness, seemed to thunder from behind the boy.

Spider-Man turned to look Daredevil in the eye. "I heard about the fire."

"You mean the fire that occurred in Hell's Kitchen?"

"I get it. I used to stop there sometimes. I skateboard up by the courts and go to the museums." He knew Daredevil was incredibly territorial when it came to other superheroes.

"I don't care. I don't need gawkers."

"What happened? Was anyone hurt?"

Daredevil paused. "The store owners. They were sleeping when the fire was set. They never even woke up."

"Oh, geez. That's..." He stopped. "What do you mean, 'set'?"

"It was arson. Someone wanted to send a message."

"To whom? To you? Was it a ninja gang thing?"

"It isn't your problem. Go home."

Spider-Man sighed as Daredevil dove off the edge of the roof and disappeared from sight. He pulled out his phone and only hesitated for a second before sending a text to Robbie Robertson.

\- Fire in Hell's Kitchen. Two fatalities. Why isn't it in the news?

He put his phone away and headed back home.


	25. Curiouser and Curiouser

"So, Peter." Peter tugged his earbud out of his left ear and craned his neck around to see Mr. Robertson leaning on his cubicle wall. "Nice photos. Not your usual action pics."

"Um, thank you, sir?" Peter had gone back to Hell's Kitchen Thursday morning before school and took pictures of the remains of the burned down buildings. He dropped them on Robbie's desk this morning when he came in to work.

"What's your interest?"

"A classmate of mine worked at the grocery store for a few years. At first, I didn't realize the couple died in the fire, but when I found out, I wondered how I hadn't heard about it yet."

"Your friend told you?"

"Um, yeah." Peter lied. He had texted Robbie with the news of the Kim fire earlier in the week, but Robbie hadn't responded. Maybe the pictures jogged his memory. The editor had a lot of projects going at any given time.

"Well, you've got a great nose for news, son. After receiving your text, I put a call in to the NYPD and FDNY and decided to take this one up myself. Would you like to tag along? See how investigative journalism works?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir!"

"Okay. Get your friend in here for an interview."

"Oh. Um, I don't know that he'd want to talk about it. He didn't actually mean to tell me, it just kind of slipped out accidentally."

Robbie narrowed his eyes. "Secrets don't 'kind of slip out accidentally'. They spill out when you can't hold them in anymore. It's always a matter of time and timing. Grab your coat."

Peter grabbed his hoodie off the wall hook in his cubicle and ran to catch up with the veteran reporter. "Where are we going?"

"Usually we'd go right to the source. But seeing as the source is a pile of ash, we're going to take the scenic route. The Kim's estate is being handled by Nelson and Murdock out of Hell's Kitchen."

 

"Alright, ladies, let's pick up the pace! Two more reps!" Coach blew his whistle. "Get that equipment off the field, Thompson. We're gonna scrimmage next."

"Yes, sir." Flash grabbed two tires from the obstacle course and rolled them to the sideline. The football team had a game in four hours, and if they lost, their season was over. The guys were exhausted from last night's practice, an early morning practice, and the current drills run. There was no way they would be able to scrimmage for two hours and play a decent game that evening. He turned when he heard a soft 'yoo-hoo'.

"Hey, Flashy-poo, would you be a dear and refill our water bottles for us? We'd reeeally appreciate it." Liz twirled her ponytail around a finger as she posed with the rest of the cheerleading squad. Her voice was honey-sweet, but she was glaring daggers at her ex-depends-on-who-you-ask.

Flash ignored her and jogged to pick up two more tires. He also ignored the rest of the girls' bitchy cackles, but took note of Mary Jane's silence and embarrassed expression. He had to hustle to clear the field of equipment before the team was done running drills. He didn't want to give Coach an excuse to berate him in front of everyone that used to look up to him. It was bad enough that his absence caused them to drop from a comfortable first-place lead to the pathetic sixth they'd end up in if they lost tonight's game.

"Oh, waterboyyy...we're thirrrstyyy..."

"Shut yer yap, Allan!" Coach bellowed at her and blew his whistle. "Scrimmage, two lines, let's go! Flash, call yer team."

"You want me on B?" Flash assumed that as Coach's assistant, he'd be in charge of the benchwarmers.

"No, I want you to pick me a winning team and teach them how play the damn game!" He blew his whistle again. 

Flash wasn't entirely sure Coach knew what the purpose of a whistle was. He skirted through the huddle of players and called out names as he slapped his starters on the shoulder. "Kong, Wohman, Andrews, Mahone, Brown, Big Phil, Li'l Phil, Newman, Scarfe, Twizzler, McG, Stanley, Danielson, Iceberg, Smith, Tweener, Dobrick, MacKenzie, Bahr, Two-Tone, Adams, Reese."

As his team started following Flash to the opposite side of the field, Coach let out another whistle. "I said you're taking the players. I've got the bench. Are you stupid?"

"I've got my team, sir." Flash didn't move as Coach stalked towards him angrily.

"What the hell do you mean, you've got your team? Didja forget how ta say Ionetta's name? Or Mitchell? What, you're gonna win a game with Bahr as your QB?" The large man's face was crimson and sweat poured off of it. Alcohol made Flash's dad sweat, too.

"No, sir. We're going to win with Dobrick's arm."

Flash's team looked stunned as Coach and the rest of the players cracked up in laughter. "Oh, I'd love ta see this. This ain't a Hollywood movie, idiot." When Flash didn't respond, Coach grabbed a handful of his shirt. "You lose this game with your loser squad, and your ass is staying on the bench baseball season. Understand?" He spit onto Flash's face as he yelled.

Flash shrugged. "Okay." He wrenched his shirt from Coach's grasp and motioned for his team to follow him across the field. They did with confidence. The team captain was voted on by the players at the end of every football camp; the three weeks of tryouts preceding each football season. Flash was voted for nearly unanimously just as he had been the previous two years. He was a phenomenal player and a natural leader. The difference between Coach leading practice and Flash leading was that after a Coach-led practice, everyone was exhausted while after a Flash-led practice, everyone was better than when they'd began.

"Um, I don't want to sound like an idiot, Flash, but what do I have to do as a quarterback?" Keith Dobrick wasn't being facetious; he had never played the position. He was generally used as a second-line center. He was one of the few teammates that also played baseball. There he was the starting catcher, playing across from Flash on the mound.

"Don't worry about the strategics, Dobie. I'll call the plays. You just need to hit your man. Circle up and take a seat, guys." As the team gathered around their captain, he knelt on one knee. "I want to work out a few plays with you for tonight. We'll take them one at a time."

"Whatever you say, Cap. Just as long as I'm not trying to catch someone else's fastball this spring."

 

"Peter! Hi!"

"Hey, Karen." Peter blushed and waved a hand at her from behind Robbie's right shoulder.

"Joe Robertson, Daily Bugle. I see you already know my copy boy." Robbie shook Karen's hand and smiled.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Robertson?" she smiled back warily.

"Is Mr. Murdock or Mr. Nelson in? We're investigating the Koreatown fire. I understand your firm has taken on the estate of the Kim family."

"That was a week ago. Slow news day? Shifting through the newsroom ashes?"

"Information has been surprisingly slow in coming. Just slow enough to peak my curiosity, in fact."

"Curious enough to come out from behind your editor desk?" She raised an eyebrow in an unspoken challenge.

"Editor slash senior investigative reporter. I understand you've been working with a friend of mine down at the Bulletin?"

She smiled in defeat. "Matt, if you don't mind?" She didn't even raise her voice, knowing the blind man would hear her.

"Mr. Robertson. Come on in." Matt appeared at his office door. "Peter, can I get you a soda?"

"No, that's alright, thank you." He followed Robbie, who stopped him.

"This is a friendly visit, Peter. Accept the soda."

"Karen, two coffees and a water for the copy boy, please." Matt shook Robbie's hand and led them into his office. "Peter, you're moving up quickly. Just the other day you were stuck in the dusty filebox purgatory."

How did he know that? Peter was relieved when Robbie spoke up for him. "A good reporter doesn't let a few spiderwebs stop him."

"No, not spiderwebs. Especially not Mr. Parker." Matt was smirking as he took his seat behind his desk.

"How do you all know each other?" Robbie took his own seat and motioned for Peter to do the same.

"It's a surprisingly small world. What do you need to know about my clients that wouldn't fall under our privilege?"

"Oh, I don't need anything from you pertaining to your clients' estate. That was kind of you, to reach out to the boys. I assume they didn't contact you and I assume they weren't your clients before their demise or you wouldn't have had to file your request to control." He accepted the cup of coffee handed to him by Karen and continued without missing a beat. "What I have to ask you is less due to your occupation and more due to your residency. You've lived in this neighborhood all your life."

"I have. Minus an extended absence for law school and greater studies."

"Of course. You wanted to make your city better?"

"My city is your city. She takes care of herself. I wanted to help balance the scales. Help justice prevail. Lofty, I know."

"Not at all. It's the same reason I do what I do. We've seen the city change during our lifetimes, you and I. Do you think it's improving?"

Peter could see the lawyer's brow furrow. Matt wasn't the only one confused. "Depends on your starting point, I suppose, and on your end goal. I think the city is exactly how it's always been."

"No offense, but I wouldn't be the first to volunteer to walk down the streets of Hell's Kitchen alone at night." Robbie took a sip of his coffee. He hadn't even opened his notebook. If he had one. Maybe in his pocket?

"No offense, but you might consider practicing your second amendment rights more often. Or taking a self-defense course or two. Assuming you're not taking a night stroll around here for fear of your personal safety, that is." He hadn't touched his coffee.

"You're a fighter's kid. What kind of odds would you put on a man versus a gang? Or better yet, a man in a mask versus a gang of mysterious Japanese ninjas?"

Matt smirked and Peter gulped down his water. "If you don't feel safe in this neighborhood, perhaps you should head back to yours."

"Maybe you're right. At least in my neighborhood, when the police are called, they come. Fire department, too. It's too bad for the Kims that isn't the case here." He stood and extended his hand to Matt. "Tell you what, Mr. Murdock. You keep defending victims and I'll keep encouraging their protectors to do their jobs."

Matt also stood and took Robbie's hand in his own. "Each in our own little way."

"Peter, any follow-up questions?" Robbie clapped him on the shoulder.

"Um, do you know how the fire started? Didn't they have smoke alarms installed?"

Matt turned to Robbie. "You're going to talk to the neighbors?"

"We are. Anything in particular I should bottle for?"

"You'd be the first one to visit the burn site. It's not even roped off."

"Really. A week later. Take care of yourself, Mr. Murdock." They started out the door.

"You, too, Mr. Robertson. Peter, learn all you can from this guy. He's one of the best."

"I will. Thank you for your time. Bye, Karen. Thanks for the water."

"Good seeing you again, Peter." She smiled. "Mr. Robertson, I'll say hi to our friend for you."

"You do that, Miss Page, thank you." He led Peter down the hallway and back out onto the street. "Last time you don't tell me when we're visiting friends of yours."

Peter bit his lip. "Sorry. I only met them once. They're actually friends of my classmate."

"The one that worked at the store?"

"Yeah."

"Hm. He's getting more interesting as we go."

Peter ran through everything that had just happened in the lawyer's office as they climbed into Robbie's car. "What did you mean when you said bottle around? Anything you should bottle around for?"

Robbie laughed. "Bottle for, not bottle around. BOTL. Be on the lookout for. An acronym reporters and lawyers share. If you can get in good with lawyers, nurses, and law enforcement, your career as a reporter is set. Try to keep those interviews light, remind them you're on the same team. Truth seekers."

"What about politicians?"

"Never trust a politician. Not even if you're married to 'em."

"I feel like I should write that down. Hey, speaking of writing things down, you didn't write anything down in there. Wasn't that an interview? Of sorts?" He spewed in one breath.

"Of a sort." Robbie corrected. "It's all right here." He tapped a finger on his temple.

"And you just remember it all?"

"I do." They pulled up to the block that started Koreatown. "Okay, grab your camera. We're going to walk through the rubble and see what we can see."

The fire had burned long enough to destroy anything organic, but the shelving lay in a tangled twist of metal. Pieces of glass stuck up in random places, mostly around the perimeter. The Kims' bedframe was metal, and it lay where it, and presumably they, landed when the roof collapsed and the second floor crashed down. Peter couldn't stop the shudder that passed through his body.

"Peter! Come here." He jogged over to the senior newsman. "Walk around the perimeter, slowly. Start here. See these chains?" He squatted down and pointed at the coil of metal connected with a heavy-duty padlock. "There's another one just opposite us. You said you'd shopped here before?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir. A few times."

"Was this the area of the front door?" The photographer nodded again. "And across from us leads to the back alley, so we can assume that chain is where the back door was. Get shots of those. Then look over here." He stood and ran a few feet to the right, towards where the front counter had been. "See this brown glass? See the shape? This was a bottle of some kind, beer maybe. Peter, make the chain at the front door your first picture, then work your way clockwise looking for glass. Windows and bottles. Peter, this wasn't just arson. This was murder! They chained the store owners in and threw Molotov cocktails in through the windows. I'd bet my left nut this was Yakuza." He looked Peter in the eye, breathless.

Peter looked back sharply. "That Japanese gang?"

Robbie nodded. "They've gotten into the protection racket. The new mob is from out of town."


	26. This is Your Life

Midtown High was in high spirits Monday morning. Flash's football team had won a stunning victory Saturday night, beating the Bronx Bullets 27-24. The win had earned them the opportunity to play tonight against the fourth-seated team. Richard Dobrick's strong catcher's arm proved to translate as well to the football field as Flash had hoped. He had also used the unlikely Colin Bahr, built more like a quarterback, as running back. His long strides carried him across the field for two of their three touchdowns. When he saw Flash quickly approaching from down the hall, Peter smiled widely. "Hey, nice game, Fla-"

His breath was cut off when Flash grabbed him by the throat with one hand, the front of his shirt with the other, and slammed him up against the lockers. "What the hell is your problem?" Flash paused only slightly, knowing the scared boy was unable to answer. "Why can't you let dead people just be dead? I didn't tell you where I worked, because I didn't want anyone to know. I didn't tell you about the fire, because it's none of your fucking business! You're not a reporter, you're just an asshole." He drew Peter back towards himself and threw him down on the floor, where the boy lay gasping for breath. A few tears leaked from his eyes. "Stay out of my life." Flash punched a locker door shut as he turned and shoved a few students aside on his way back down the hall.

Peter lay stunned and reached up to touch his neck as his heart rate began to slow back down to normal. He reached out and clasped a hand being held out to him and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw the hand belonged to Kong Harlan.

"You okay, man? That was pretty wicked."

"Yeah, thanks. What was that all about?"

Kong shrugged. "After the game Saturday, Flash didn't come to the party. I thought it was just cuz of all the shit with Liz, but maybe that guy had pissed him off. I didn't hear from him yesterday neither."

"What guy?"

"After the game, when we was getting done showering and stuff, Flash was cleaning up the equipment off the field and some old black dude was bugging him. I could tell Flash didn't want to talk to him, but I never seen him before, so I don't know what it was about. I guess I was thinking it was a talent scout, but maybe not. Maybe just some guy with the other team giving him a hard time."

"What did he look like?"

Kong shrugged. "I don't know. Black, white hair, taller than Flash. Wore a suit. That was weird. Thought maybe that's why he was a scout at first. He gave him a business card, but Flash threw it back at him."

No. Robbie. Shit. "Thanks for the hand, Kong."

"You might want to stay clear of the man today."

"It's B day. I have like half my classes with him."

Kong laughed. "Sucks to be you, then!" He continued laughing as he walked down the hall to first track.

Maybe he's skipping the day. He usually leaves school when he's this upset, right? Peter's hopes were dashed as he walked into English class and saw Flash sitting in his usual seat. The seat right next to Peter's. Oh, this was going to be a long day.

 

Peter didn't work up the nerve to talk to Flash until last track Phys Ed. He had sat through History almost feeling the glare from Flash's eyes on the back of his head. They were working on archery in Phys Ed, and while Flash had a medical reason to sit out, Coach instructed Peter to sit on the bench, as he wasn't 'about to let anyone's eyes get shot out' by Peter's ineptitude. Whatever. This time last year, Peter could hardly even draw back the bow. That was P.S. Pre-Spiderbite. They sat in uncomfortable silence for long minutes. "So, do I get an explanation?" Peter mumbled.

Flash didn't respond for another ten long minutes. When he did speak, his voice was thick with restrained emotion. "You know why I didn't tell you about the fire? Because I knew you would do what you did. You want to be a big time reporter, boy. You ask your friend Joe how many friends he has. You know why people hate reporters? You're all asking me questions about my life, getting me to trust you. You're a piece of shit. I'm not a fucking story, asshole."

Peter paused briefly. He was shaking slightly and was sure Flash could tell. "I knew about the fire, Flash. I lied to you at Nelson and Murdock's. I just wanted to know why you didn't tell me. I'm sorry. It's just that you were gone. I went to see you in the hospital after we argued, and then you were gone and you were gone for like a week and I heard about this fire at the place you worked and I thought maybe you'd been working there and that's why you were gone, and you were gone for a week and there was this fire..." He stopped rambling, aware that tears had started to fall and he had started to freak out and he was in the middle of the last class you'd want to be caught crying in.

Flash had turned to stare at him. "You thought I was caught in the fire?"

"You weren't answering my texts. I didn't know yet that anyone had died in the fire, but I hadn't seen you or heard from you."

They sat in silence for a while before Flash spoke again. "I'm not allowed to have a job. My uncle wants me to work for him, but I don't want to. Like I told you, he's not a nice man. But it's hard to find a job that he or my dad won't find out about. I'd shopped at the Kims' before when I was staying with Matt and I knew that when the boys were in school, it was just the two of them working around the clock. So I asked them if I could put in a few hours here and there and it worked really well for two and a half years." He paused. "They were really good people. They were really kind to me. Nicer than I deserve. Then my uncle found out and my dad found out. And now they're dead."

Peter was shocked. "Flash. Are you saying your uncle..."

"He wasn't even in the country." Flash cut him off. "I'm saying I don't get nice things. Anyone who's nice to me ends up dead. The Kims, George Stacy, Gwen."

"Your mom?"

Flash scoffed. "I don't want to talk to the newspaper about my dead friends. And I don't trust you. I don't trust that anything stays between us."

"Flash, it does, I swear." Peter pleaded.

"Liar." Flash stood and left the room.

 

That night, Coach put his favorite players back on the field and Midtown secured fifth place by falling to Long Island 24-3. The locker room was deflated as Coach yelled profanities at the team. Flash hovered by the door debating whether to take the heat for the team by drawing Coach's attention to himself or disregarding what he saw as his team captain duties and leaving. He finally decided on the latter. He sped past the girls' locker room before he was spotted and slammed through the front door to the parking lot. He could see a figure sitting on the hood of his car and smiled. He was in the mood for a fight. Getting closer, Flash sighed as he made out the figure to be Peter Parker. Frickin' Parker. "Want to get off my hood, jackass? You're not weightless." 

Peter jumped to the ground. "Sorry. How'd you wind up with such a nice car? Gift from your uncle?"

"I don't take gifts from my uncle. I bought it from a retired cop. He used it undercover, so it was a piece of junk. I rebuilt it."

"Really?" Peter looked over the car again, trying not to show that he didn't know what he was looking at. "It's really nice."

Flash shrugged. "Took me four years. Still have some work to do on the exhaust system and wipers." They both stood unmoving for a short pause. "Move. I've got places to go."

"Like where?" Peter didn't move.

"Like none of your business." Flash shoved Peter out of his way, opened his car door, and climbed in.

Peter, who'd allowed the bully to physically move him, leaned down as Flash rolled open his window. "Would you let me apologize to you? I've kind of been a jerk."

"You know what you can do with your apology?" Flash turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine.

"Shove it up my ass?"

He nodded and put his sunglasses on. "At least that. Watch it, loser."

Peter stepped back as Flash tore out of the parking lot.

 

Robbie was on the phone when Peter leaned in the door to his office. The veteran newsman waved him in excitedly. "Thank you, Mr. Malone. You've been a big help. Good day." He hung up the receiver. "Peter! No school today?"

"It's 4:00. School's out." Peter ignored the man's invitation to sit down.

"Don't usually see you on weekdays. No homework?"

Peter shook his head and bit his lip. "Were you at my school this weekend? Maybe went to see the football game?"

Robbie tilted his head. "Yes. I enjoy a good game. My boy plays college ball."

"Oh?"

"I stayed to talk to your friend after. He wasn't very receptive. Do you know what that means?"

Peter felt his face get hot. "That you didn't listen to me?"

"No, no. Not that. Do you know why he's so reluctant to talk?"

"I don't know."

"Peter, you found yourself a very intriguing story. Look at this." He pulled out a file folder full of forms and pictures paperclipped together. "Four years ago, there were nearly twenty complaints to the police from Korean business owners about vandalism and robberies. The police seemed to think a new gang had popped up. Immediately following the compaints, while police increased neighborhood patrols, the vandalism became more serious and people were attacked. Pulled into alleys, shook down, the usual. Then this guy turned up." Robbie pushed a picture of a fire-charred body in front of Peter.

"Who is it?"

"Never identified. But right after, the police presence completely disappeared. Store owners started paying protection money to a group of masked men who call themselves the Hand. Weird name for a gang, huh?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "Do you think this Hand killed the Kims? Maybe they stopped paying the protection fee?"

Robbie shook his head. "The neighborhood knows what happened. They all insist it was not the Hand. They refuse to tell me who or why, though."

"Maybe the Hand told them to tell anyone who asked that it wasn't them."

"No. It's some kind of honor thing. They want people to know about their atrocities. They want to be feared. Even by the police. Who aren't taking my calls, by the way." Robbie looked straight into Peter's eyes. "I think your friend knows what happened. I wonder if he knows why."

"Know what I think, sir?"

Robbie let his excitement wane. "Go ahead."

"I think you're looking at harassing a boy in mourning. Anything he would have told me he won't now, because he thinks I told you who he is. I've completely lost his trust. And that sucks because we sort of have this tutoring arrangement."

Robbie leaned back in his chair and grew serious. "Peter, what kind of relationship do you have with this boy anyway? You refuse to call him a friend, but his trust is so important to you?"

Peter sighed and slouched down into the chair Robbie had offered before, dropping his backpack on the floor beside it. "We were apparently friends when we were younger, before my parents left."

"Apparently?"

He shrugged. "I seem to be the only one that doesn't remember. I mean, I guess I kind of remember hanging out with a boy, but I can't seem to connect him with Flash."

"Memories are funny."

"Yeah. Anyway, he's pretty much the big man on campus, you know? All-Star athlete, good looking guy, natural leader. Or ringleader maybe. School bully, especially towards me. When my uncle was killed, he kind of let up on me. And then a friend of ours was killed and he's been trying to..." His voice faltered. "I don't know what he's trying to do, really. He's still a jerk, but I guess he's been more of a thoughtful jerk? Not thoughtful like kind, more like... philosophical almost. No, maybe just more human. I don't know. It's weird. I know more about him today than I ever wanted to, and it seems like he's always known quite a bit about me. Like I said; weird."

"And you think I pushed too hard?"

"Well, yeah! He thinks I ratted him out so I can be a reporter! He knows I work here. And suddenly there's a Bugle reporter asking him about a job hardly anyone but me knew he had? Of course he thinks I told you! Now he thinks I'm writing down everything he says! He'll never talk to me again."

"What do you guys talk about? Doesn't seem like you'd have many common interests."

Peter shrugged. "Our dead friend mostly. Or just death in general. Our conversations are pretty heavy, actually. Morbid almost."

"Is death something you think about often on your own?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. Not really. I'm mostly thinking about all the stuff I have to do. I mean, death has been a pretty steady part of my life since I was eight. You kind of get used to the people you love leaving. Doesn't help dwelling on it."

"So he does most of the talking?"

"Ummm... I don't know, not really actually. Depends, I guess, on who starts the conversation? He seems to take more of a scientific approach to processing things, which is actually really strange." Peter paused. "I don't know. Why are we talking about this?"

Now Robbie shrugged a shoulder. "Seems you need to. I got his name from Tommy Kim. The eldest son. He was concerned about your friend's wellbeing. It seems Mr. Thompson worked late and slept over several times, so Tommy didn't know if he'd perished with his parents. I told Eugene to call me if he needed anything, but he was unreceptive. Your name never came up."

"Oh. Well, he drew conclusions I guess. He never said anything about their kids." Peter grabbed his backpack and rose to his feet. "FYI, he hates being called Eugene."

"Thanks for the tip. I doubt we'll be speaking anymore regardless." He turned to study something on his computer monitor.

"Thank you, Mr, Robertson. I think I'll go knock out a few basement files while I'm here."

"Sounds good, kid. Keep in touch."


	27. On the Other Side of Town

November was a relatively quiet month at Midtown Science High. The school yard was blanketed in a fresh coat of snow that kept the students inside from the first bell to the last. Flash still met with Peter after school every day, but didn't acknowledge him otherwise. Well, except for the joyous return of the daily shove into his locker. Joyous, that was, to the rest of the basketball team; Peter hadn't missed it. "Hurry up, practice is at 5:30 tonight." Flash threw his backpack on the library study table and it slid into Peter's writing hand. Basketball practice was usually at 7:00, but every once in a while it was early.

Peter sighed as his pencil gouged a tear through his math homework as a result of Flash's backpack hitting his hand. "What's going on tonight?" he weakly attempted to start a conversation.

Flash ignored the question. "We started something new in math and I don't get it. But I'm still not done with my English assignment."

"How much do you have left in English?"

Flash shrugged. "A few pages."

"Can you read that on your own tonight and come early tomorrow? We could do Algebra now and knock out your worksheet before class tomorrow."

Flash's face lit up briefly, but he quickly replaced it with his, of late, usual scowl. "Sure." He pulled his math book out of his backpack and deftly opened it to the offending page. "What's this shit about?"

"Vector spaces? You'll catch on to this, don't worry." He started to pull out his calculator when MJ skipped over.

"Hey, students." She held out her phone. "Flash Thompson, you can't avoid me forever."

He glanced at her phone and glared at her. "I'm not answering your stupid questions."

"You are the most requested interview by the student body. I can't stave them off with your teammates much longer."

"Not my problem. Why don't you bug Osborn instead? Everyone's all obsessed with him."

"Don't you read the school paper? I did Harry Osborn last week."

Flash smirked. "Why, Mary Jane, I didn't realize you were that kind of a girl."

"Shut up, pig. Have fun trying to teach a brick wall, Peter." She flipped her bright red hair over her shoulder as she stalked off.

"Aren't you kind of over-doing the neanderthal jock routine lately?" Peter gave the athlete a disgusted look.

"Aren't you under-doing your student teacher role? Teach me math, Mr. Miagi."

Peter sighed.

 

As the basketball team showered following practice, Flash pushed the basketball racks into the equipment closet. He fought the temptation to shoot a few free throws, telling himself that his sternum was not fully healed; as he was reminded every time he coughed or rolled over too aggressively in his sleep. He left the sounds of the locker room behind him and stepped out of the gym and into the hall. He nodded at the security guard who opened the front door for the student to exit the building. "Your ride's here, Chief."

Flash groaned as he saw the police cruiser parked at the curb. Connely had been keeping his distance since football season had ended. Flash bent down to the open passenger window. "Let me guess. My dad doesn't-" Flash stopped as his dad smiled harshly at him.

"Stay gone tonight. I've got a friend comin' by. Go hit up one a your boyfriends."

Flash turned slightly as the prostitute in the backseat giggled. Gross. "Yes, sir." He straightened back up and his dad drove off. Great. The school had added night security to the staff since someone had broken in and entered the principal's office a couple of months earlier, so Flash couldn't stay here. He had been keeping his distance from Uncle Wilson and Matt, his car was in the cop shop waiting on a new muffler, Kong's parents were in town, and there were tournaments at Battlin' Jack's. Homeless shelter it is, then.

 

"I need a parker. Hahaha." Spider-Man shivered as he stopped on a streetlight and wrapped his arms around himself. He had said 'I need a parka' but his frozen lips managed to form the last word into his last name. Whoops. It was somewhere between 10 and 20 degrees fahrenheit; unusually cold for New York City this early in the winter. Well, autumn technically. Did no one tell the weather god that? Spidey spotted an all-night diner and loudly rejoiced. "Mmmm... hot cocoa!" He started to swing towards the diner when a figure laying on a park bench caught his eye. He swung towards the blanketless man. "You're in luck, sir! It's Thursday night and that means it's time to do a good deed. What would you say to a hot cup of... Flash?!" As Spider-Man reached out to touch him on the shoulder, the man had thrown his arm out in defense and tumbled off the bench and onto the ground. "What are you doing out here?! It's freezing!"

Flash stared at the superhero, slack jawed. "How do you know my name?"

Oops. "I...follow...high school sports?" He pointed to the M on the athlete's letterman jacket.

"Really?" He jumped to his feet and grabbed Spider-Man's hand to shake. "Dude, you're so awesome! I'm a big fan."

"Um, me, me, me too." Oh my god. "Of you. You're- why are you here? Outside here?"

Flash blushed. Unless his cheeks were just red from the cold. He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't feel like walking home?"

Spidey tilted his head curiously. "That's lame. You have noticed, haven't you, that it's FRICKIN' FREEZING OUT HERE?!"

Flash shrugged again. "It's not so bad when you're wearing more than spandex."

"It's reflective. Keeps the body heat in."

"Okay."

Spider-Man scratched his head. "Well, you want to get a cup of coffee? Maybe talk about football or something?"

Flash smirked. Frickin' Flash. "Coffee? Or cocoa? Cuz earlier it sounded like you said-"

"Come or don't." Spidey huffed and turned towards the diner.

"Where do you even keep your wallet?" Flash asked from behind him.

"I have a tab." He mumbled back.

 

"Good morning, class!" Ms. Hartche greeted as Peter slid into his desk, last as usual. He eyed Flash beside him, who was looking both tired and ragged.

"You look like you fell asleep on a park bench or something." He risked. Flash didn't respond. He and Flash had two cups of cocoa each last night. Okay, Flash had one cup of cocoa and one coffee. They chatted easily about crime and crime fighting before three screaming police cars sped by and Flash urged Spidey to follow them. When he'd returned, Flash was gone. Peter had searched the park, but came up empty.

"Peter, what do you think of the story so far?"

"It's good. I like stories about kids being kids. It seems like their play acting is a lot safer than Tom Sawyer's and his gang."

"Well, then you'll love the next chapter. Go ahead and read as far as you can for the next twenty minutes. No spoilers!" Ms. Hartche sat at her desk while the class opened their copies of To Kill A Mockingbird.

Peter noticed Flash had opened to the third page. He was already that far behind? His eyes widened as he remembered he was supposed to get here early to help Flash finish his chapter worksheet. He reached over and poked Flash with a pencil. Flash glared at him. "I overslept this morning, sorry!" He whispered. Flash just shook his head at him and turned back to his book. Peter did the same. The truth was, Peter had read the entire book Wednesday after the first chapter was assigned. He hated reading books in pieces. That was Peter's one complaint about school; he would read the assigned book and be ready to take and pass the test and move on to the next assignment, but he'd have to wait as the rest of the class read chapter by chapter. He hoped they'd at least take the test before Thanksgiving break.

"Flash is sleeping." Misty spoke up ten minutes later, helpful as usual.

And he was. Until Misty's voice broke the silence. Then he jerked awake, his arm flinging his book across his desk and onto the floor, where it slid to the front of the classroom. Instead of getting up to retrieve it, Flash just sat and scowled at it. Peter was certain if Flash was a mutant, he'd summon the ability to burn the book to ash. He was also certain Flash was still half asleep. Flash stared at the book, the class stared at Flash, and Ms. Hartche glanced at the clock. "Okay, let's have a bit of a discussion on the first chapter. If you've read beyond the second, politely recuse yourself lest you find yourself tempted to spoil new discoveries. What is the first thing you notice when you read the first line?"

The conversation continued, and Peter watched Flash sit unmoving, eyes glued to the book at the front of the room. Finally, the bell rang and the class rushed to their feet and out the door. Peter picked up Flash's book and slowly made his way over to the boy, who was still unblinking. He placed the book on Flash's desk gently. "Here. I think it's okay. Nothing broken."

Flash didn't reply. He just shifted his gaze to his desktop, now that the book was there. "Eugene, are you ready to present your speech in class today?" Ms. Hartche asked, the concern evident in her voice.

"Not today. It's done, but-" Flash's voice was rough and he still just stared at his book. "-not today."

"Okay. You can present in the next round." She placed her hand gently on Peter's back. "We'll see you Monday."

Peter nodded and exited the classroom. His next class was a blur, and he was glad when the bell rang for lunch. He entered the bustling cafeteria and saw Liz waving him over. He nodded to her, made his way through the lunch line, and then sat beside her. "Where's MJ?"

"She'll be here. She's interviewing people for her column." Liz helped herself to one of Peter's fries.

As if on cue, MJ skipped over and plopped down onto the bench across the table from her friends. "Hello, peers!"

"Who will we be reading about in next week's Voice?" Peter asked her, smiling.

"In next week's Voice of Midtown, the student profile will feature none other than campus big man Flash Thompson, as requested by the student body."

"Good. He should get more attention." Liz bit.

Peter was confused. "I thought he wasn't answering your questions?"

"He isn't." MJ wagged her eyebrows. "But his friends are."

Liz's face lit up. "Ooh! Ask me!"

MJ laughed. "Okay. When did you first meet and how?"

"Ninth grade, we had a couple of classes together. I had just moved here and he's the one that told me to try out for cheering, by the way; my mom always said I was too short. I was even shorter then." She explained to her friend with a slightly wistful expression growing on her face.

"When did you start dating?"

"Like right away. He showed me around the city and came home to meet my mom over dinner. She adored him. But he had to stop coming over when my mom's boyfriend threatened to kick his ass if he saw him again. He thought I was gonna get pregnant, but I think he was just jealous, the perv."

"Ew."

"Don't write that."

"Obvs. Did you get to meet his parents?"

"I met his dad a couple of times. He comes to some of the practices and games. He's super hot."

"Ew!" MJ looked shocked.

"What? He is. That's part of the reason I keep taking Flash back. He looks just like his dad, so it's like looking into the future. Picture Flash, then picture like the perfect man with Flash's face. Rugged, solid muscle, super intense eyes. I could die happy if that was my last vision."

MJ and Peter both cringed. "Sweetie, that is borderline. Let's change the subject."

"Yes, let's." Peter agreed hurriedly.

"What about his mom? Was she a cheerleader? Is that part of your prophecy?"

Liz laughed. "No, I don't know. There's something weird with that. He never talks about her. She died when he was little. Cancer, I think. I don't think he even remembers much about her. I wouldn't ask him about her, though. He got really mad at me one time when I asked what she looked like. I only asked, though, because his dad had said I was pretty like her. That was sweet. Oh! He has a sister, did you know that?"

MJ and Peter both exclaimed. "This is the first I've heard of her. Peter, did you know?"

He shook his head. "No, I didn't. Are you sure?"

"Mm-hm. He came over one night drunk. He doesn't drink much actually, but if you can get him drunk, it's the only time he doesn't lie. Anyway, this was still in ninth grade and he came over and climbed up to my window. You know where my room is, right?" She asked MJ, who nodded. "So he came in and he was almost crying. It was the closest I've ever seen him to crying, anyway. And he said his dad and him had a fight and his dad said that he wished they had taken him away instead of Jenny. He wouldn't really explain it clearly, but it sounded like when his mom was sick, they sent her to a boarding school or something and that's where she is."

"Doesn't she come home for breaks and stuff?"

Liz shrugged. "No. It's maybe too hard without her mom there, you know?"

"Hmm. That's weird that no one else mentioned her. But no one else mentioned his mom dying, either. Most of them think his stepmom is his mom."

"He doesn't have a stepmom. His dad is on-again-off-again with that Sunny, but they aren't married. Seriously, if he ever had a mom around for any part of his life, would he be such an asshole to women? His dad is like super respectful of women. Too bad that didn't brush off on Flash."

"Preach it." She noticed Peter looking uncomfortable. "Well, he is a womanizing asshole."

"Actually, you want to hear something really embarrassing?"

"Yes!" MJ leaned forward eagerly and checked to make sure her phone was still recording.

"Okay, so like all the girls say they've slept with him and stuff, right?"

"Yeah. BMAC and all."

"Yeah. Well, I've dated him longer than anyone and we've never had sex and he's never even asked to, and in fact..." She glanced around and lowered her voice. "The first time I tried to do anything more than just kiss, he freaked out. I think he's a virgin."

"What?!" MJ slapped her hands over her mouth and lowered her voice again. "What do you mean 'he freaked out'?"

"Guys, I don't think..." Peter tried to interrupt.

"So we're on my bed, right, making out? And he's got a hand on my breast, under shirt, over bra, and I went to grab for his jeans zipper and it was like I zapped him with a taser. He jumps back and falls on the floor, he won't stop apologizing, by the time I realize what's going on, he's out the door and in his car driving away. The next day he tried to act like nothing happened, but when I forced him to explain he said he was sorry he got carried away and that he respected me and didn't want to put me in a bad situation. It was actually really sweet. So all these girls that say they've been with him, not to my face by the way, I think they're all full of it."

"What the heck. When was this?"

"Just this past summer."

"Girls, you shouldn't be... MJ, you can't print any of this. You shouldn't even be talking about it; that isn't fair." Peter finally got his words in.

"Yeah, a guy defending a guy, go figure." Liz spat. "He broke my fucking heart, Parker. Guy's a tease. But I guess you get to do whatever you want, right? But if a girl does it, they're a bitch. Well, Flash Thompson is a bitch. Is he your bitch? Or are you his? Maybe that's why he won't put out; he's not into girls in that way." Her eyes were on fire.

Peter gulped. "I don't know, Liz. If he's gay, why would he try to rape you at your house party? Or did he? Or maybe he was just drunk off of all the beer he didn't drink?"

Liz gaped at him as if he'd slapped her. Then she turned red. "You know what? Screw you, Parker. You're all the same anyway." She jumped up from the table and ran out of the cafeteria.

MJ stood to follow her. "I'll call you later, Petey. Don't worry. This isn't going anywhere yet." She left in Liz's direction, leaving Peter alone at the table.

 

"Mmmmmm. This is amazing, Aunt May." Peter smiled around a mouthful of mashed potatoes and meatballs with gravy.

"I thought you needed a nice, hot meal tonight." May smiled back. "It's getting cold early this year."

"Yep. Global climate warming change; it's real." He shoveled another forkful into his mouth. "Mmmmmmm."

"How has the Thompson boy been doing lately?"

Peter almost choked. "Huh? Flash? Why? Fine, I guess. Why?"

"I haven't heard an update about him since his football accident."

"Oh! Yeah. He's not playing sports right now. You should see him sit on the side for gym; it's pretty sad. I would never believe anyone could actually like that class that much if I didn't witness it myself."

"He probably could say the same about you in science lab." She winked playfully at her nephew.

"Haha! True. Anyway, I think he's fine. Not showing any pain anyway. How's work been?"

"Well, we've been busy at the shelter, that's for sure. We started a coat and blanket drive to give something to the people we have to turn away."

"Are there a lot?"

"There are the usual intoxicated and otherwise impaired, but lately we've just been running out of room! If they're not in by ten o'clock, they're out of luck." She pushed her food around her plate absentmindedly.

Peter drained his glass of milk and pushed himself to his feet. "Well, you help more than most. New York's homeless are fortunate to have you volunteering at that shelter." He kissed the top of his aunt's head and carried their dishes to the sink.

"Some of the people we've had to turn away are so young." May's voice continued from the dining room. "Last night, there was a young man." She paused long enough for Peter to go back in to her. He sat at the table beside her. "I wonder where they go when we reject them. I wonder where he slept last night."

Peter took her hand. "Want to watch Murder She Wrote? I'll make some tea."

She caressed his cheek. "Sweet boy. Make it In the Heat of the Night, and you're on. Watch one episode with me."

"Sure thing, Aunt May. I wouldn't miss that stud muffin Bubba What's-His-Name for nothin'!" He helped his aunt to her feet as she giggled at his terrible drawl and smiled widely. He was thankful to have such a great example of compassion in his aunt. She was one of a kind.


	28. Here and Now

Peter stared in confusion at the water trickling down from his locker. "Better open your locker, Parker." Kong mocked from behind him. "It looks like your textbooks are crying because you left them here over the weekend, ya big meanie." Peter turned to face the laughing boy and saw him standing beside Flash and Tony, who were both laughing their own tears. He sighed and opened his locker door to a rush of water. Inside, standing atop a pile of his textbooks, was the remnant of a tiny, melting snowman.

"Really?" He turned and gave the jocks a piteous look.

Kong laughed out loud and snorted. "I didn't know you hung out with big celebrities like Frosty the Snowman! You da man, Parker!"

"Take a picture, dork. Maybe it'll make the front page." Flash sneered.

"Yeah! Daily Bugle exclusive: Murder at Midtown. No, Mystery at Midtown: Melt or Murder? It's like inclitoration."

Flash stopped laughing and frowned at his friend. "Say what?"

Kong looked sheepish. "Like in English. Inletteration. When all the words start with the same letter."

"Alliteration." Flash corrected as they started away. On his way past him, Flash shoved Peter back. Into the puddle of water on the waxed floor. Onto which Peter fell after slipping in said water. Spider-agility be damned. "Whoops. Watch that first step, Frosty."

"Frosty the Photog!" Kong guffawed. "Frosty the Freak. Freaky Frosty!" Flash smiled and shook his head in amusement as they both made their way to their respective first classes.

"Peter! Are you okay?!" 

Peter looked up to see MJ's brilliant red hair and pink ski jacket hurry toward him. He waved her off and rose to his feet. His jeans were soaked through. As were his briefs. He groaned. "Nothing a change of clothes won't fix. Little hurt in the pridal region."

"You carry your pride on your ass?" The girl joked.

"Ha! I lost my pride because of an ass?"

"Hat. Asshat. Times three, it looked like."

"Well, the third wheel was just there for the show. So that's better, I guess?"

"Oh, yeah! Well, if there were just two jerks making your life hell, than what am I concerned for?" She gave him a sympathetic side hug. "I think I have an old hoodie in my locker you could tie around your waist."

"That's okay, thanks. I have some stuff in my gym locker. I'll just be late for first."

"Okay. See you at lunch?"

"Save me a seat!" He waved his goodbye to MJ and ran down the hall to the gym.

 

Ms. Hartche's English class was discussing the possible metaphor in the Radley family when Peter knocked on the locked door. When the teacher opened the door, he handed her his slip from the office and apologized for being late and interrupting. After she accepted and he stepped inside the classroom, the room erupted into peals of laughter. "Nice duds, Parker!" Flash mocked the embarrassed boy's ensemble.

Peter had taken his clothes home to wash the previous weekend and had not replaced his contingency outfit. Thus, he stood in the doorway of his junior English class in basketball shorts and a Midtown Marauders physical education t-shirt. 

"Have a seat, Peter." Ms. Hartche motioned for the class to quiet down. "You're just in time for our homework assignment. The Radleys' actions were interpreted by the rumors that surrounded them. How we perceive one another colors how we assign motive. What would be a fairer method?"

"Trust people and let their actions speak for themselves?" Misty answered.

"Until you're bleeding out in an alley, stupid." Connor spoke up from the back.

"No names. How can we make an educated call? Tyler?"

"Get to know one another." The boy sounded bored.

"Good! I have names in a hat. When you draw your partner, pick up a folder for each of you and return to your seats. Peter, you can pick first."

Peter walked up to the front of the room and reached his hand into the hat full of slips of paper. He pulled one out and groaned as he read the name. He picked up two blue folders from off Ms. Hartche's desk and returned to his desk, tossing one of the folders to his right without looking, so that it landed on Flash's desk. Flash watched it land and then looked quickly up at Peter. "You've got to be kidding me." In response, Peter let his head drop face-down onto his own folder.

 

 

"What's your full name?"

"You know my name."

"Flash isn't a name."

"You know my name, dickwad!" Flash finished fishing a pen out of his backpack and glared at his tutor/assignment partner. They were sitting on Flash's bedroom floor, Flash with his back against the closed door and Peter against the bed frame.

"We're supposed to be interviewing each other. Otherwise we could just fill out our own sheets."

"Yeah, let's do that."

"Or we could just do the assignment."

"Or you could just fill out the answers because you should know them. I'm half done with yours." Flash held up his folder where he'd scribbled answers down to most of the questions on the first page.

Peter grabbed the folder from the larger boy and skimmed it over. "How do you know all this? You even have Carface on here?!" Uncle Ben had given Peter a box turtle when he was six. The young boy threw himself into researching the creature and, on learning the shell was called a caripace, and remembering his uncle's favorite movie was Scarface, he settled on the most clever name his brain could invent.

"I helped you release him back into the wild, remember?" Flash teased.

"That was you?"

"It was my idea." Peter gave him a quizzical look and he sighed. "Remember I made you feel all bad about keeping him prisoner and convinced you we should set him free to find his family?"

"Into the East River."

"Yeah. Really, I had heard there were alligators living in it and I wanted to see." He grinned.

"You used my turtle as bait?"

"Yup."

"Have you ever not been a bully?"

Flash laughed obnoxiously. "You just make it so easy. I can't help it."

Peter flung the folder back to Flash. "You got them right, but it's not how I would have answered."

"Well, just fill out mine and we'll fix the answers when we're done. Less talking, more peace."

"The assignment is to interview one another. Erase your answers."

Flash smirked. "What's the real problem, Ego?"

"What?"

"Mr. Self-Centered, all full of himself."

"What are you talking about?"

"You. Being you. You don't know any of those answers, do you?" Flash wasn't smirking anymore.

Peter's faced turned red. "How would I?"

"I knew yours." That was true. "We've known each other for most of our lives. But you don't even know my name. Because it doesn't affect you, does it? You don't see anything around you unless it directly affects you and you never have. But you're perfect." The sarcasm dripped.

Peter sighed. "Can we just do the assignment, please?"

Flash shrugged smugly. "Sure. Ask me your questions, Peter Benjamin Parker. Born Apr-"

"I get it. What's your full name, Flash? Eugene Frederick Thompson?"

Flash couldn't hide the suprised look on his face. "Yeah. Point for you."

"Your parents' names?"

"Harrison Ronald Thompson and Rosalinda Carmen Santoni."

"That's her maiden name? Did she change it when they got married?"

"That was her name. You want to put your aunt and uncle on here? Did they adopt you, or how did that work?"

"No, they're just my legal guardians. Yeah, Benjamin Amos Parker and May Marie Reilly Parker. What about your stepmom? Bunny or whatever?"

Flash shook his head disgustedly. "I don't have a stepmom. My dad's not the marrying type."

"He and your mom never got married?"

"Never had time, what with the kid and all. Another dream of hers I killed."

"I can't imagine it takes long to get married." Peter mumbled.

"Drop it. What do you want to put for a date for your parents? Or just not put one?" Flash's voice started out hard, but softened as he asked the question.

Peter shrugged. "We put the day they left on their gravestone. They never made it to their destination, as far as we know, so it's close enough. June sixth, two thousand eight."

"Oh, I thought it was just before your birthday. Your ninth."

"Funeral was the following March. That's maybe what you were thinking." Flash just nodded in acquiescence. "What about your mom? A date?"

"Just before the end of fifth grade. April twenty ninth, twenty ten."

"How did she... was she sick?"

Flash snorted. "Yeah, she was sick."

"I'm sorry, Flash, I guess I didn't really know."

"Forget about it. You were still in zombie mode. And then I was gone for the summer. By the time sixth grade started, you seemed to be a little more aware. Part of the world again or whatever."

"What are you talking about? Zombie mode?"

Flash sighed. "When your parents didn't come back, you kind of shut down. Like if Ben or May went on an errand while we were playing, you'd start freaking out after ten minutes, like you thought they'd been gone all day and weren't coming back. You couldn't keep your mind on anything, always zoning out. You didn't ever want to leave the house. I don't know what made it better, but it didn't happen anymore by sixth grade. That seems to be all the shit you can't remember. Blocked it, I guess." He shrugged and drummed his pen against his folder absentmindedly.

"Where did you go? You said you were gone for the summer?"

"Yeah. Dad was pretty messed up, so they sent us off to foster homes."

"Us?"

Flash jumped, as though waking from a trance. "Me. They sent me to a couple of foster homes, couple weeks at a time. So that was pretty awful. I was actually glad to come back home!" He laughed humorlessly. "But we weren't even friends anymore at that point."

"What was it like? The foster homes?"

"What's it to you?"

"I don't know. I never had to be in one. How fortunate was I?"

Flash shrugged. "I was in three and they were all pretty crummy, so I guess that's the system."

"Crummy how?"

He shrugged again. "The first one they were always yelling, making me do all the chores and shit I couldn't do, like fix the broken TV antenna. I don't know shit about antennas!" He ignored Peter's 'antennae' correction. "Then it was a super religious family that got all mean when I didn't know the prayers and stuff or answer any of their Bible questions. So I had to read the Bible all day instead of playing outside. It didn't make any sense and I never even got past Genesis. I asked CPS to send me back there, though, after the last one." He visibly shuddered. "They sent me home instead."

"Why, what was the last one like?" Flash didn't answer, instead stared out his bedroom window. Peter waited a few minutes before asking again. "Flash? What was the third one like?"

"They had a daughter that was maybe thirteen. I thought she was in high school, but you know how it is when you're younger. Anyway, she ended up being in the same middle school as us. I saw her in the halls once in a while. She was really into guys and I guess she didn't care that summer if they were younger than her." He was tearing at the corner of his folder.

"What do you mean? Did she flirt with you when you were in her house?"

He scoffed. "Well, only at night. She didn't seem to care that her parents were in the next room. She just said if I made any noise or told anyone what was going on that she'd tell her parents I touched her and CPS would ship me off to juvie."

Peter thought his breathing had stopped. "What was going on? Did she molest you?" When Flash just closed his eyes in response, he decided to push further. "What did she- Is that why you don't want to have sex with Liz? Because you don't ha-"

Flash's eyes snapped open and shot daggers at Peter. "The fuck are you talking about Liz for?"

Peter swallowed. "The party. She said you-"

"Dumped her because she wouldn't sleep with me. Yeah, I heard."

"Nooo... well, that's what she told the school, yeah, but she told MJ and me that you... you know." He dropped his eyes in embarrassment.

"Obviously I don't know."

Peter took a deep breath. "She told us you tried to force yourself on her. That you tried to rape her and she fought you off. It sounded a little off, but we didn't want to doubt her..."

"Well, I am an asshole." He closed his folder and started to his feet.

"And you had a bruise and a cut on your eye the next day in school. And you get so angry and violent. But then she started to tell a different story to everyone else, and she acted weird, and then she said you would never hurt a girl and that you might be gay because you didn't want to sleep with her. So, what really happened?" He looked up at a defeated Flash.

"This stays in this room and then we never talk about it again, you got that?" Peter nodded, but Flash wasn't satisfied. "I mean it, Parker. You have a big mouth."

"Fine, Flash! If I tell anyone, you can kick my ass." He rose from the floor and sat on the bully's bed.

Flash glared at Peter as he spoke. "I was taking a nap and she came in and climbed on top of me. She wasn't totally wasted, but she was not sober. When I woke up, she was trying to get me, you know, interested, and I pushed her off of me. She got all pissed and embarrassed and ran out screaming. Fuck, I was sleeping! I didn't even know it was her at first!"

"It was like the girl in the foster home."

"Stop talking about things you don't know about. None of this even has anything to do with you. Asshole."

"Why would you let her lie about it?"

"There are worse lies she could tell. Let her keep whatever reputation she wants. I don't care."

Silence fell over the room. "So, do you want to..."

"I think we're done for the night. Besides, my dad's going to be home soon, so you have to go anyway." He opened his bedroom door and Peter followed him down the hall. As they reached the front room, Flash stopped short and Peter ran right into his back.

"Hello, son. So that's the wife?"

 

 

"Good night, Aunt May." Peter called as he climbed up the stairs to his room. He had hoped she would have gone to bed herself by now so that he could sneak out for a few hours of patrolling, but she had that mending to do. Sigh. Women. His back pocket buzzed and he drew out his phone. 

\+ outside. now. flash. 

Okay. Peter snuck back down the stairs. "Just going to get a glass of water." He mumbled as May laughed at something Carol Burnett said on the TV. He got to the back door and quietly opened it. He flicked on the back porch light before closing the door behind him. "Flash?" He whispered. 

"If you ever tell anyone what we talked about tonight, you'll wish you went the way of your turtle." Flash's voice was hoarse and mean. 

"What?" Peter turned around. In the soft glow of the porch light, Flash's angry face looked red. His arms, held straight at his sides, ended in tight fists and he stood slightly hunched forward. "Flash? Are you okay?"

"I'll know if you talk. And I will hurt you so bad."

Peter could hear the shaking boy try to control his breath. Try to sound intimidating. And he would be, to someone who lacked the proportionate strength of a spider. "I told you I wouldn't tell anyone and I meant it. Flash, are you hurt? Was your dad upset that I was there?" 

"I told you he didn't want anyone over."

"Yeah. He came home early, huh? Did he yell?"

Flash unclenched his fists and turned to leave as he spoke. "Yeah. He yelled."

Peter watched the boy stumble around the corner of the house and disappear into the darkness. 

 

"MJ! Hey, MJ!" Peter hurried up to her in the hall.

"Hey, Tiger! What's got you all worked up?"

"I have a huge favor to ask you." He accepted the books she pushed into his arms.

"I am the genie you dream of."

Peter shook off his confusion and continued. "Please don't run that article on Flash."

"What article? The profile? Too late, it's been submitted for final review."

"Please, MJ."

"What's the big deal?" She looked him in the eye as they climbed the stairs. "Look, Peter. Flash Thompson is THE most popular student in the school. Not just our class; the entire school. Peers, seniors, faculty, they all love this guy. If I don't get a student profile on the one student everyone wants to read about, it kind of defeats the purpose of having a student profile column, you dig?" She stopped in front of her classroom and grabbed her books from Peter's grip.

"Can you just wait a few weeks yet?"

"No, Peter, I'm sorry. This is our last paper before winter break. The next issue doesn't come out until January and people won't wait that long. They'll be rioting in the streets, man!" She placed her hand on Peter's arm and smiled softly. "I'm doing this to save lives, Mr. Parker. Surely you can appreciate that."

Peter watched her turn dramatically away into the classroom and rolled his eyes. Well, he tried. Flash can defend himself. Maybe he can get a look at the draft before it goes to print. Yeah, that's what he'd do.

 

"No."

"Come on, Tom!" Peter begged.

"No. I'm not the kind of editor that pulls a reporter's story to please the ruling class."

"Oh, god. It's a column and I'm just asking to take a look at it. Maybe it's fine. I just want to know."

"No, Peter. Look. I like you, okay?" He put his hands on Peter's shoulders and stared him in the eyes. "I trust my people."

"Okay. Flash did not give his consent for a profile. He refused an interview! So you have a profile based on the hearsay of other people. Where's the integrity in that?" Peter saw Tom hesitate. "Look, just hold it for your back-to-school post-winter break issue. I'll get Flash to participate."

Tom put down his notebook in defeat. "We don't print until Thursday. Let me think about it."

"Fair enough. Thank you." Peter left the journalism room and started down the hall towards his Latin class.

"Peter. Haven't seen much of you since I've been back. What would you say to a small get-together Friday night?"

Peter turned to face Harry Osborn, who had paused on his way into the orchestra room. "Oh, h-hey, Harry. Um, I have to check with my aunt. We've been...doing...things on weekends. Together."

"Sure, Pete, sure. Just hit me up when you're clear, hey?" Harry's smile didn't meet his eyes. It never did.

"Yeah, I'll, uh, hit you up. See you, Harry." Peter waved- waved!- and continued down the hall. How awkward! What was his deal with getting creeped out by Harry? They used to be friendly, right? Peter remembered that their fathers had worked together occasionally and the families would vacation together. More dim memories. He took his seat in his Latin class and rubbed his eyes before reaching into his backpack for his books. Winter break couldn't come soon enough, in Peter's opinion.


	29. Truth is Starker Than Fiction

It was a new year and a new semester in an old school full of old students wearing new clothes, Peter observed as he pushed his way through the crowded, noisy halls. Personally, he had a fantastic winter break. Literally. He had been invited to join the Fantastic Four (temporarily deemed "The Fantastic Five" by Peter and "The Fantastic Few Starring Spidey and The Torch" by Johnny Storm. Also "A couple-a eggheads, a couple-a dimwits, and me, Ben Grimm" by the Thing. Johnny said Thing knew less about marketing than about hairstyles, Thing said the Torch knew less about knowing when to keep his trap shut than knowing the names of his current three blonde girlfriends, and Spidey thanked them for their entertainment since the Negative Zone had no cable reception) on a possibly world-saving mission the week after Christmas, which ended up being just in time to save Peter's sanity. Aunt May gets a little Christmas Crazy. Also crazy was MJ Watson, whose lovely visage was making its way through the crowded hall in Peter's general direction. There was nowhere for Peter to hide.

"Happy new year, Tiger! Get anything good for Christmas? Me? Oh, thank you for asking." She laced her arm through his and held tight. "My father took me to see the Russian Ballet. Well, he took his new girlfriend, she's a dancer, you know, just not exactly ballet, although she does use a pole, and he let me tag along. The ballet was lovely. And mom came back the other day, but the flight made her sick, you know, just the flight, not the alcoholic beverages consumed on said flight, so she spent Christmas in bed. She bought me a couple of new dresses that don't meet school dress code requirements, so that was nice. Oh, and I got to spend the break rewriting a few school newspaper articles. You know, since I turned in 'false reporting'. Don't worry, Pete, I'm not mad at you," she interrupted as he opened his mouth to speak, "I actually wanted to thank you. I want to be a good reporter and you helped me see the importance of integrity. Although I'd still kill for an interview with Captain Thompson. I'll figure it out. Have you seen him? Anyway, here's my stop! See you at lunch." She kissed his cheek and slipped into her classroom.

Peter slid into his own classroom. He had not seen Captain Thompson over break, and was looking for a good explanation this morning in class. They had their partner project due Wednesday and hadn't gotten anything done on it. His eyes scanned the classroom and saw nearly everyone except the bully of his dreams. Ms. Hartche was sitting at her desk with a big smile on her face. She had gotten engaged over Christmas break, according to the hallway gossip. Good for her. She was young and pretty, and very nice. Not that you have to be young or pretty to get engaged. Sexist. Oh! Peter pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text to MJ.

\- MJ!!! SPOTLIGHT ON MS HARTCHE FOR YOUR COLUMN!!!!

He didn't have to wait long for her reply.

= Oooh!!!! I love you, spark plug! L8r

Peter honestly didn't understand half of the things MJ said ever.

\- Forgive me?????

= Hmm... A brownie at lunch would seal the deal.

\- Consider it done.

= Oh, I'll consider it done when my mouth is full of warm, gooey yum ;-)

Peter swayed briefly between joy and embarrassment before settling on the former and dropping his phone into his backpack.

 

School ended quickly enough. Every teacher was in high spirits, although they all also handed out homework like they'd missed that part of their jobs the most. Peter ran through the walking traffic of the sidewalks with ease as he made his way across town. He took a shortcut through Central Park and a few more through alleys that he didn't know about until he'd gotten a rooftop view on a nightly basis. He slowed to a walk as he neared the Thompson house. The sidewalks hadn't been shoveled, because apparently cops didn't get fined neighborhood maintenance fees, and neither had the driveway. Peter trudged through the snow to the front door. There was a large picture window in the center of the house that was boarded up with sheets of plywood. Most people insulated with thick plastic sheeting over their windows in the winter, but the Thompsons did things their own way, Peter guessed. He rang the doorbell and knocked on the door. Twice. There was the sound of something being dragged across the floor before it finally opened. 

Peter was struck mute at the sight of his classmate. Flash leaned against the open door as though for support. His hair was shaggy and disheveled, his clothes looked slept in, and his feet were bare. What struck Peter the most, though, was the dull look in Flash's eyes. His black and blue eyes, that was. "Flash? Are you-"

"What do you want, Parker?" Flash growled.

"School started back up today. You missed it."

There was no reaction from the boy as he stepped away from the door and started down the hall. "It's cold out."

Peter stepped inside and closed the door behind him. As he turned, he noticed the broken picture window. "What happened to your window?" He called loudly, not seeing where Flash had gone.

The other boy stepped out if his bedroom. He had changed into slightly fresher track pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt. "Something went through it."

"A bird?"

"No, it wasn't a bird."

"A reindeer?"

"What do you want?"

"We have our project due Wednesday. Thought we could get that done." Flash surprised him by shrugging and beckoning him into the kitchen.

"We can work in here. I'll have to find my sheet." He picked up a trash can and carried it over to the kitchen table, where he proceeded to fill it with the empty beer bottles that covered the table top. Peter watched from the doorway of the kitchen as Flash sprayed the table top with cleaner and wiped it down. He pushed the now-full trash can across the floor with his foot and looked at Peter expectantly. "I would have cleaned if I knew you were coming over."

"I tried to text you..."

"I don't have a phone."

"What happened to your phone?"

Flash shrugged. "I'm grounded."

"Oh, that sucks. What did you do? Were you in a fight? Because of your-" He motioned to his own eyes. "Was it from when I was over?" He remembered the venom in Harrison’s voice as the man offered Peter a ride home a few weeks earlier.

Flash turned to reenter his bedroom. "Sure." There was some shuffling around until he came back out with his English folder. "I jotted down the answers for you. Sit down."

Peter accepted the folder from his classmate and sat at the table. There was no animosity in Flash's voice, but there was no other emotion either. "Um, thanks, Flash. Are you going to be in class Wednesday to turn yours in?" Flash shrugged noncommittally. "Do you want to finish up your questions for me so you can turn it in? If it's okay for me to be here, anyway."

Flash shrugged again. "I'm not too concerned about it."

"Not too concerned about turning a completed project in or about me being here?"

Another shrug. "Whatever."

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Okay. Well, why don't you sit down and we'll finish these up?"

Flash sat and opened his folder, allowing a yellow pencil to roll out and onto the floor. When he bent over to pick it up, Peter noticed him wince slightly. He straightened back up and looked at the first unanswered question. "What house rules do you observe in other aspects of life?"

Peter furrowed his brow as he thought of the question. "Respecting my elders, saying please and thank you, putting things back where they belong." He looked at Flash's answer to the question and copied it down. "How's your sternum healing?"

"Fine. As you mature, in what ways have your views differed from those of your parents slash guardians? In what ways have they stayed the same?"

"My aunt and uncle believe that if someone wrongs you, you should just let it go because karma will pay them back. I believe in our justice system. They do think everyone should get as many chances as they need to start over again and so do I. Did you hurt your hand in your fight? You're writing kind of slow and sloppy." As he was talking, Peter had noticed Flash was writing with his left hand. He knew the athlete was right-handed.

Flash barely hesitated. "Yeah, I busted a knuckle. It's healing fast." He finished writing Peter's answer. "How do others' perception of your family affect your reputation?"

"Well, every once in a while, I meet someone who knew my dad and they expect me to be a scientific genius like him."

"I'm sure they're very disappointed." Flash said sarcastically.

Peter blushed. "Well, I'm not a genius."

"Whatever."

"I'm not! There's a difference between being the smartest guy in a New York STEM school and being a genius."

"There's also a difference between a third grade science fair project and you making a drone that the military uses."

He had a point. The military did buy the specs from a seven-year old Peter Parker's echolocation drone. Peter chuckled lightly. "If it was a year later, that wouldn't have happened. Ben wasn't as pro-military as my parents."

Flash scoffed. "He only invented the hippie. I don't have any more questions."

"So now you have to use my answers to write my side of the story. And set up the misconstrued scenario."

"That's easy. Your neighbors think you're a terrorist. But I'll explain how you're just crazy."

Peter creased his eyebrow. "People don't really think I'm a terrorist, do they?"

Flash shrugged. "I don't think anyone thinks about you much. People mostly just think about themselves."

"Okay, I'll write how people think you're a wise guru but in real life you're actually a wise guru."

"God, you're annoying." Flash laid his head on his folded arms resting on the table top.

"Hope to see you in class tomorrow, Flash." Peter got up and let himself out the back door. As he turned to close the door behind him, something across the yard glinted in the light if the sinking sun. He walked across the lawn to find the garbage can full of broken panes of glass, presumably from the front room's picture window. Among the flecks of mud and other outdoor things baked onto the glass were a few red splatters. He peered back at the house and saw Flash hadn't moved from his resting position at the kitchen table. Curiouser and curiouser. Peter stuck a smaller shard into his backpack and continued down the alley. Maybe it was time for another totally innocent, random conversation with Aunt May.

 

Parker Luck was a phenomenon that was hard to define. It manifested in various nearly imperceptible ways. Unless, of course, one knows where to look. The first form was direct contact. In first grade, Peter took a test. And then he took another, and another, and then thirty more, and then he was taken out of first grade and put into third. Flash didn’t care. Sure, Peter was the only kid he knew in the school, but there were other kids he could get to know. None of them were as funny, though. One day after school, Peter told Flash that his class was going to get a tour of the aquarium and get to feed and touch some of the creatures. He was especially excited to get up close to the octopus and squid. Flash said knowing Peter he’d likely fall into the pool and get eaten by the squid. Instead, Peter woke up the morning of the field trip covered in chicken pox and Lacie answered six out of ten sea animal trivia questions correctly which earned her a position as a junior docent at the aquarium the following summer. Everyone knew Peter would have gotten more right answers because he’s the one whose book report on Jules Verne’s 10,000 Leagues Under the Sea won them the tour in the first place.

The second form of Parker Luck was then indirect contact. When Flash was in second grade and Peter was again in third because his chicken pox turned into shingles and he ended up staying home for three months and the school board decided he needed to put the time in despite his ability to pass every third-grade level test, Harrison Thompson started a neighborhood baseball team. It was made up of fellow police officers’ sons and their team dynamic was unprecedented. Flash tried for weeks to get Peter to come to the games, but the boy always had other things to do. When Peter finally did come, Flash’s team was playing the local fire department’s sons. The Forest Hills Badge was 17-0 while the Forest Hills Fire was only 7-10. Flash’s team was sure to win. With Peter watching from just behind the home team’s dugout, the Badge proceeded to miss every run opportunity, make countless fielding errors, and seem to forget how to make the bat connect with the ball. The Fire won a humiliating 16-0 victory and the Badge went home dejected. After reaming out his team, Harrison “Tank” Thompson pointed right at Peter in the stands and ordered, “I don’t ever want to see your weasely face around here again.” Peter obeyed. The Badge didn’t lose another game for the rest of the season.

Another form of Parker Luck was assumed. This was the most difficult to pin down, but Flash knew it existed. It was by far the hardest to predict. Peter had good parents. They were a happy couple, college sweethearts who loved their son and taught him by example to do good in the world. While off doing good and being good, their plane blew up in the sky and they along with it. Presumably. Peter, who mourned appropriately, was taken in without coercion by his kind and loving aunt and uncle. Ben and May were also very happily married and were good members of society who were very proud of their nephew and praised him at every opportunity. Then Ben was shot and killed while trying to do good. Flash supposed May would live until Peter became a wealthy and successful adult because he didn’t have any more loving relatives waiting in the wings. Although, Flash supposed that if May died while serving some homeless family soup, a teacher or someone would pop up and gladly take Peter in. Some wealthy genius like Tony Stark would seek the loser out and make him his heir or something. Either way, bad things would keep happening to the good people around Parker and Parker would continually walk in slow motion through the carnage to victory.

The contrast made Flash ill. Parker’s parents went to college together, dated, got married, and had a son. On purpose. And they loved him and told him they loved him. Flash’s dad was a nineteen-year old second-year high school senior who slept with incoming freshmen until one of them got pregnant. She dropped out of school to work full time so that he could graduate and move on to the police academy. Then they failed with every abortion attempt and had to take care of a needy little brat they never wanted. They couldn’t even get married because Rosie wasn’t old enough and her parents wouldn’t sign the permission slip for the courts. By the time she was old enough and Harrison had started as a cop, the whole marriage thing seemed unnecessary. So Flash sucked at everything he did, Rosie became consistently stoned, and Harrison worked his way up the ranks by spending all of his time away from Rosie’s bastard. Then Rosie was dead and Flash wished his dad would die because he had a rich uncle, too. Of course, his uncle was a mob boss and would only let Flash stay with him if he agreed to one day take over the “family business”, but the devil’s in the details. Well, the devil may be in a white three-piece suit and living in Fisk Tower, but that’s nitpicking. Either way, Flash’s life has always sucked and probably always will suck, and he was convinced it was because he was the seven-year old idiot who said yes when his new neighbor asked him if he wanted to watch this awesome funnel spider catch bugs in his aunt and uncle’s back yard ten years ago.

 

= omg, im in heart with ms hartche who i shall heretoafter refer to as caroline

\- LOL WHAT?

= good tip tiger. she is the best interview. flash is trash.

\- LOVE TO TALK BUT AUNT MAYS HOME. TALK TOMORROW 

“Hey, Aunt May!” Peter jumped down the stairs five at a time to meet her in the foyer.

“I’m glad you’re home, my strong boy. There are five more bags of groceries in the cab.”

“Not for long!” He kissed her cheek and rushed out the door. When he recognized the cabbie, he waved. “Hey, Amir! How’s tricks?”

“How do you know my name?” Amir scowled. “We are not friendly.”

Peter’s eyes widened. Amateur! Spider-Man had saved Amir from getting mugged three times in the past year. “We must have met?”

“Get your bags, strange boy. Go away.”

Peter snatched the bags, closed the door, and hurried back inside. “So what’s for dinner, Rachel Ray?”

“Your choice. Meatballs or stuffed peppers?”

“Um, both? You are the best!”

“Stuffed peppers it is. Red sauce or mushroom sauce?”

“Both again! Yes!” Peter raised his fists in the air in triumph.

“Go play in the basement.”

“You call me if you need my help with anything, Aunt May! You are the best! I love you so much!” He continued yelling as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I love you more than science!” He couldn’t hear her giggling, but he knew she was. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the shard of glass from the Thompson’s garbage. Normal. He slipped it under his microscope. “Is that you, oh Captain my Captain?” he muttered as the red splatters on the glass did indeed appear to be red blood cells. He grabbed a swab.

Last year, Peter got “spider powers”. He went to school, got picked on by his own life’s personal bully, and decided for the first time to fight back. He bloodied Flash’s nose and broke Flash’s hand. He freaked, Flash freaked, everyone freaked, and Peter ran home. He couldn’t stop staring at the blood on his hand. He was a scientist, however, so he made up a few slides and studied them. He compared them to his own. His own was very different than the last time he looked. Spider powers. Was he a mutant now? He logged it all. He filed it all. And this was the Flash blood he had on file to compare to the blood on the window pane and sure enough, according to the swab, that too was Flash blood. How does a boy’s blood end up on a piece of broken window?

“Peter! Dinner’s on!”

 

\+ do you cut hair? flash

= wat?

\+ i haven’t had a haircut since before school let out. gwen used to cut it. do you cut hair? flash

= get bent

In his defense, Flash had tried to call Karen Page first. She was busy. Liz wasn’t an option. MJ seemed like his best bet. Oh, well. How short is acceptable and how short is neo-nazi? Flash entered the bathroom and grabbed the electric clippers his dad kept in the bottom drawer. What’s the worst that could happen, right?

 

“How was the first day back at school?” Aunt May passed Peter the basket of dinner rolls.

“Dreamy. I love school. Flash wasn’t there.”

“Okay? I wouldn’t think you’d mind that.”

“We have a partner project due Wednesday.”

“Ah. Are you freaking out about getting it done?”

“No, I’m sure he’ll be there Wednesday. Right?”

May laughed. “I don’t know, dear.”

“Tell me about him. And me. As boys.” He shoved a forkful of pepper and meat and mushroom in his mouth.

“One, you’re both still boys. Don’t take that away from me. Two, what do you want to know? You two were as thick as thieves. And then you were thieves and we encouraged you to go your separate ways.”

“We got into trouble?”

“He taught you how to shoplift! He taught you how to lie. He taught you how to curse. I won’t apologize for breaking up that partnership.”

“Was it real bad or was it just boys being boys?”

“According to Ben? Guess. According to me, I saw nothing good at the end of that road. And look at the two of you now! One could say I was right.”

“What if I could have been a good influence on him?”

“That’s your mom. That’s what she thought. That’s why they let him come and go and stay for days. Sweetie, I love that you think the best of people’s potential, but you have to learn that sometimes people are just going to let you down. I’m not saying he will!” She quickly added before Peter could interject. “I just don’t want you to get heartbroken over a lost cause.”

“Not that he’s a lost cause.”

“Of course not.”

Peter chewed for a while. “If we grew up together, wouldn’t we have something in common? He just seems soooo different!”

“Well, you had very different lives. He grew up in an environment of anger. You grew up with people that told you if they were proud or disappointed, so that you learned how to discern right from wrong.”

“What do you mean ‘an environment of anger’?”

“It was always so loud over there. Yelling, doors slamming, Harrison’s friends in and out. It’s a wonder Flash wasn’t over here more than he was.”

“When did you first meet them?”

“I brought over a lasagna and pie the night they moved in. Rosie was very gracious. She wouldn’t give the pans back, though, and I hardly ever saw her leave the house. Ben met Flash a few days later. He was in the shed sharpening the lawnmower blade, I believe, and said when he looked up at one point, a little blond boy was standing right beside him, watching him with wide eyes. Ben said he put his safety glasses on the boy and let him tag along for the rest of the afternoon. That following weekend, you came for the rest of the summer and the two of you became fast friends. All eight of us would grill burgers in our backyard when your parents were in town. Your dad always had his camera out. There are probably old videos in that attic, come to think of it.” Her voice trailed off as she got caught up in her memories.

“You are what you eat, right? Isn’t that what Uncle Ben always said? If you live in peace, you live out peace; if you live in chaos, you live always panicked. So now I know why Flash is always angry. Right?”

May looked at her nephew, concerned. “Is he always angry? Isn’t he just a teenaged boy?”

Peter shook his head. “Oh, no. He’s alllllways angry! Always. Except when he’s alone, I’ve caught him looking like super sad. Like he accidentally pet his puppy to death. But it’s hard to read him sometimes; he might still be angry when he’s alone. It’s probably exhausting.”

“Is he angry towards everyone? Do you see him ever friendly?”

“It’s a weird existence, the whole top of the social pyramid. Jocks and rich kids share the peak, right? But not all jocks are rich kids and that’s where Flash exists. He’s popular because he’s good at sports and sports gives Midtown bragging rights. If Flash stopped playing sports for good, he would drop down to the bottom of the pyramid within weeks. He knows it, so he keeps playing, and the rich kids know it, so they keep him just close enough just in case he doesn’t quit this season. Well, he wouldn’t drop all the way to the bottom, cuz he is a dreamboat, but close enough in comparison. So everyone just pretends to like him because he’s a winner and he doesn’t have to pretend to like anyone because they’re the ones that need him. Now he’s been out injured and it’s been pretty interesting to see these guys all pretend to have his back because they know if they say anything bad about him and he goes back to winning games, he can kick them out of the social scene. The only guy I’ve really seen him talking to much is Kong, but I think they’re best friends. Flash is the only one allowed to make fun of him. Gwen was his friend. He was totally different around her.”

“Different how?”

“She said he was thoughtful and supportive, held doors open for her and never bragged. I don’t know; I never witnessed much of that. She was the only one that could calm him down, though, when he would roid out.”

“Does he do drugs? Alcohol? Has he been different this year compared to last? Without Gwen?”

Peter shook his head then shrugged. “He doesn’t drink very often, I don’t think, and he’s totally against drugs. He’s all about taking care of your body as an athlete. I tried to talk to him. About Gwen. He did say he’s struggling without her, but I don’t know too many of the details. He talks to me more now than he ever did, and he does seem to be trying to be more... fair? I don’t know. I just feel like he’s going to hurt somebody. Like lose control, you know? I just don’t understand how we could have ever been friends! Or why I don’t remember it.”

May put her hand on Peter’s. “You’re such a sweet soul. The only thing you two ever had in common was the property line. And you’re both boys. That’s it. It was never going to last.”

“Like Arthur and Lancelot? Doomed to be rivals?”

“Maybe more like Sitting Bull and Buffalo Bill. Totally different destinies.”

“You’re so wise...” Peter whispered as he mopped up the last of his gravy with a dinner roll.

 


	30. Nevermore, Nevermore

Peter woke up to the warm sunbeam hitting his face. He breathed deeply and stretched, shoving his blanket off with his feet. Noticing he’d fallen asleep with the TV on, he reached over to his nightstand for the remote. The clock on his stand mocked him with the time. 8:17. 8:17?! 8:17! Class started seventeen minutes ago! It’s Wednesday! He has a partner project due in first track today and he had all but threatened Flash Thompson to not dare to miss it on pain of death but now he was missing it and what happened?!!!!!

 

Peter Parker. Stupid, fucking, retarded Peter Parker. Lazy, conceited, self-righteous motherfu-

“Peter! Flash, get the door. Your partner’s here.” Ms. Hartche smiled. Peter’s face smiled sheepishly in the window in the door.

Flash got up and walked to the closed classroom door. He glared daggers at Peter through the glass window. Then he smiled. Beautiful, mad-freaking-genius Peter Parker! “I know what you’re thinking!” He whipped around to address the class. “This guy. This shady-looking guy. Comes and goes as he pleases, so easy to overlook. Teachers love him! They don’t care. See, he’s an actual genius. Besides just getting straight A’s without even trying, teachers know that someday he’ll invent something that will reverse global warming or make cancer as easy to heal as a cold.” He ignored Peter tapping at the door. “So they cater to him. He acts the mad genius part well; can’t keep his shoes tied, can’t remember where he left his coat.” He turned to address his partner. “Peter, you’re wearing it!” The class chuckled. Flash turned back to them. “Yeah, laugh. Everyone laughs at Parker because he’s a pathetic joke, right? Can’t stand up for himself in a fight, can’t catch a baseball, can’t even get a girlfriend. Not when everyone keeps dying on him. His girlfriend, his uncle, his parents.” The class was shifting uncomfortably in their seats. “Did you know that? Do you know anything about him? He’s invisible, right? You take this guy,” he gestured to Peter, still looking in. “This lonely, sad, bullied genius. You don’t want him at your parties. You don’t even notice when he doesn’t show up for school. Until he does show up. Late. Hair a mess, clothes disheveled, clutching his backpack to his chest. Why? Did he rip the zipper off in his hurry to get to class and he’s trying to keep the contents in? Did he run all the way to school clutching that thing like a football? Or a baby? Or is there something besides books in there that he doesn’t want to let drop? Something more dangerous? Did he want you to notice that he wasn’t here? Is that why he came late? To make you notice him?” Flash reached up and removed the V-lock from the door. “Do you notice him now? Do you have time for him now?” He opened the door and Peter stepped in. A girl from somewhere in the middle of the room squeaked. “Hey, Peter.” Flash smiled at him. “Got anything you want to say to the class?”

“Um... sorry I’m late?” He glanced around at their wide eyes.

“Sure, man. No problem. It happens to us all at one time or another.”

“Okay?”

“So... what have you got in your bag?” Flash’s voice was very friendly.

“Um, books?”

“Okay. That’s cool. Anything else?”

Peter shook his head.

“Okay. So you’ve got books in your bookbag that you tore...”

“On the subway turnstile.”

“And you’re late because...”

“I dropped my books on the subway and missed my train.”

“And you’re not angry you don’t get invited to parties?”

“What? I do get invited, sometimes, I just- parties aren’t my thing.” Peter was clearly confused.

“So you’re not here for payback.”

“Flash, I’m here for English class!” He chuckled out of embarrassment and clutched his backpack tighter to himself.

“That’s cool, man.” Flash slapped his project partner on the shoulder. “We just misread the situation. Good to see you.” He handed his folder to Ms. Hartche and sat back down in his seat.

The class clapped as Ms. Hartche stood up. “Thank you, Flash, Peter, that was very effective.” She held out her hand for Peter’s folder and waited for him to find and give it to her. “A wonderfully misconstrued scenario with a very plausible reality. Well done. An A and an A.”

Peter sat down and turned to Flash, who was grinning like he pulled off the best hidden ball trick in history. “We’re even.” Flash mouthed. Peter turned to face the front of the room just as the bell to end first track rang. Did Flash Thompson not only just present an A-graded project for both of them by himself but also convince the teacher that Peter’s tardiness was part of said project? Does he actually owe Flash now? Maybe this is all just a very detailed dream. He can wake up any time now.

 

“Flash, hey. Do you own a VCR?” Peter sat down beside the jock at his lunch table.

Flash glanced up at his classmate in irritation. “Do I have a what now? It’s not 1989, loser.”

“Want to come over to my house and watch some movies? I found some old home movies in our attic. Remember how my dad always had that stupid camera out? You’re in some of them I bet.”

“Parker, if I was in a full body cast in the middle of summer and baseball players were on strike so the only thing left to watch was your old home movies, I’d ask for the TV to be turned off so I could stare at the blank screen. Do you understand what I’m saying?” He shoveled lunchroom peas into his mouth.

“Yes.” Peter pulled a book out of his backpack. “How about some lunchtime Algebra?”

“Whatever.” He bent down and grabbed his own notebook and laid it on the table. “I couldn’t get number twelve or sixteen, but maybe check my work on the rest?”

“Sure.” Peter looked up as MJ sat down across from them.

“Hey, boys. Nice haircut, Flash. Sorry about being a jerk with that.” She flashed him her best flirty smile.

The jock sneered at her. “What do you want?”

“An interview?”

“No.”

“Help cleaning out my garage?”

“No.” Flash said forcefully as Peter simultaneously asked, “Why?”

MJ pouted. “So I may have talked back to Aunt Anna after fighting with my mom, and now I’m grounded until I get the garage cleaned out. Pleeeease?”

Peter shrugged. “I’ll help.”

“Flash, please? You can have anything you find in there. It hasn’t been cleaned out since the last owners left. They were using it to store their old car and junk and Aunt Anna didn’t need the space, but now mom wants to start an online business of some sort so she wants to use the garage as a workroom. I’ll cut your hair from now on and leave you alone about the paper.”

Flash stood up angrily and started away with his tray. He stalked about five steps before turning and coming back. “Let me think about it.” He muttered. Grabbing his notebook and backpack with his free hand, he left the pair sitting in confusion.

“What did I say?”

Peter shrugged. “Flash Thompson. Can’t live with him, can’t understand a dang thing he does.”

“Dang.” MJ laid her hand on Peter’s cheek. “You are precious.”

Peter blushed and pretended to be engaged in the Algebra book in front of him.

 

“No, no, not like that! Flash, show him how to throw the damn ball!” Harrison’s voice boomed from Peter’s television speaker. “Some kids just never catch on.”

“He’ll get it. I’m afraid I don’t really play catch with him. We bond over test tubes in our house.” Richard Parker chuckled and the image of two young boys tossing a football back and forth wobbled slightly.

Sitting on the living room couch, Peter gasped as his mother’s face came into view. “Here’s a couple of cold ones, men. How are the burgers coming along?” She handed two bottles of beer towards the screen.

“Depends on how done you want ‘em.” Harrison growled off-screen. “They’re done enough for me.”

“No offense, Harrison, but we prefer our food completely dead.” Richard chuckled again. Nervously, maybe? “By the time everyone gathers, they’ll be done, dear. Call the crew.”

“Eugene, Peter, wash up! Dinner’s on!” The camera followed the boys as they cheered and ran into the house, nearly bowling over a very young-looking May who was carrying a pitcher of iced tea. “Rosie, can you bring out the salad I have in the fridge?” Mary hurried to help Ben set up the chairs around the picnic table.

The image shook as Richard walked towards the house. A woman in a bright red dress came into view. She was quite striking in her red lipstick, chin-length reddish-blonde hair, jewelry, and bare feet. “This one, right, Mary?” She held a glass bowl filled with a pink jello concoction.

“Yes, Rosie, thank you. It’s a new recipe I got from one of my girlfriends.” Peter’s mom took the bowl from Flash’s mom and for a moment they shared a look that was both pride and love. They looked like they could have been sisters.

Peter whipped around when he heard a sniffle from the doorway. “Aunt May!”

“You found the tapes.” She entered the room and sat next to Peter. “Look how young we all are.”

“This one is the first year with the Thompsons. I’m copying it onto a thumb drive for Flash.” He pointed to a computer hooked up to the VCR.

“That’s very thoughtful of you. I bet it’s been years since he heard his mother’s voice. She was quite stunning, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty dressed up for a backyard barbecue.”

“I think she was nervous. She was very shy. She didn’t speak much. But then, Harrison was quick to fill any silence with his stories.” There was a bit of a sneer in her voice.

“What were they like together? Was Harrison any different then?”

“Oh, I’m sure he was. I haven’t seen him since they moved. That was shortly after the accident, so I really don’t know what he’s like now. They were happy, I think. He really was quite gentle with her, despite his brutishness otherwise. He was a gentleman toward her, you might say. I shouldn’t say he was brutish. His build and his gruffness; it reminded me of the caricature of a bull in a china shop. They were so young! Well, she was, anyway. She had to have been five years his junior. I never got his age. She turned twenty-one their first year in the house, I believe. Eugene was seven or eight then.” She shook her head in judgment. “Such a shame. She was a housewife. Which is fine, but I don’t think she ever took to being a mother.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She never really interacted with Eugene. I remember one day while we were having a barbecue, he climbed up the old ash tree. Do you remember that tree? It kept getting struck by lightning and Ben kept putting off cutting it down even though I was so afraid it would crash into the house with every next strike. Well, Eugene was always pushing the limits and climbed higher than we allowed while our backs were all turned, and CRACK! A branch broke right off and he came tumbling down with it. Everyone reacted. You were standing at the base of the tree and barely avoided getting hit. Your parents, Ben, and I ran over to you to make sure you were both alright. Harrison was the farthest away, but reached Eugene first and picked him up by the front of his shirt and swatted his behind like it was on fire. Out of fear, I figured. You’ll understand when you’re a parent; sometimes you overreact and make things worse. When everyone was found to still be in working order, we went back to the table and there Rosie sat. As unconcerned as if it was a cat that fell from the tree. Mary and I spoke about it later; we figured it had happened so fast, she just didn’t have time to react. I don’t know. Their family was very, very different than yours.” May wore her far-off “remembering” look again.

“Well, maybe seeing his mom again will help him heal.”

“Sweet boy.” May kissed then tousled his hair before standing up and exiting the room.

Peter pushed play. “Richard Parker, put that silly camera away and help Harrison get the burgers off the grill.” Mary’s laugh tinkled like bells.

 

Peter didn’t see Flash in Study Hall the following day, so he scribbled a note on an envelope, slipped two thumb drives inside, and slid it into the bully’s locker. He yawned as he ran to get to first track on time. He had stayed up too late watching his dad’s tapes again and was really feeling it today. He had successfully transferred the tape footage onto thumb drives last night and selected just the footage featuring Flash to copy onto his own thumb drives. There were only two more appearances by the elder Thompsons. One more backyard barbecue and one picnic in a park that featured a fathers versus sons basketball game. This one was recorded by Ben, who added color commentary. He stopped the game after Harrison grabbed the ball from Flash by shoving his son back and onto the ground hard, yelling, “Maybe you’ll be stronger next year, daffodil!” before making a three-pointer. Ben then announced the burgers were done.

Mostly, the footage with Flash was Richard observing the boys’ play. They were building ramps on one occasion that were big enough for Flash to skateboard on and of varying heights and grades for Peter’s physics experiments. On another, the boys were apparently trying to trap a skunk that had wandered into the neighborhood. They were unsuccessful, but Peter found fourteen different varieties of spider and Flash found a triple-threat walking stick that also made for a terrific sword or spear. His plan was to spear the skunk with it, but he ended up defending Peter against marauders disguised as trees instead. Peter had a good chuckle over the discovery that his recently past bully was his distantly past defender. He hoped that Flash would appreciate the memories as well.

 

“I don’t know how to thank you guys! You have literally saved my social life.” MJ was looking cute as usual, even in overalls and with her hair tied up under a kerchief.

“Literally? We literally saved an abstract life. Go us.” Peter sneezed as he pulled down another dusty tote from the garage shelf.

“Dun, dun, dun. Another one bites the dust...” Flash sang, cleverly alluding to both the sneeze and the CPR class they all took the day before in school. The instructor had encouraged singing either Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust” or the BeeGees’ “Stayin’ Alive” to get the correct heart compression rate. Flash commented the BeeGee’s song was annoying enough to give him a heart attack and the Queen song was kind of discouraging for the victim. MJ suggested they all find a better, newer song. Kong volunteered, again, to be the dummy when it was MJ’s turn to do mouth-to-mouth. Liz agreed Kong would make an excellent dummy and then went back to making out with Tony.

“Hey, Flash, here’s a bunch of pictures and stuff.” He carried the box out to Flash, who was digging through more boxes in the driveway. They had all met at the Watsons’ garage early that morning and agreed the first move would be to remove the car from the stall to give them room to work. Neither Peter nor MJ knew how to drive, so Flash drug himself forward. The first time he reached for the car door, he had what Peter described as a panic attack. His vision blurred, his hands turned clammy and clenched tight, and he started to hyperventilate. Before his shocked peers could reach him, he closed his eyes, punched himself in the side of his head, ripped open the door, and climbed in. The car, which hadn’t been started in about five years, choked to life with Flash’s urging and he was able to back it down the driveway. He told Mary Jane he’d work on sorting through things as the other two cleared out the garage and she just nodded as she and Peter exchanged a silent agreement to pretend that all didn’t just happen. Flash had not reentered the garage since.

“We didn’t have any pictures.” He reached into the box and pulled out the top frame. It was a diploma. “Oh, these are my dad’s awards and shit. He framed them all and had them hanging around the house. I broke one once with a yo-yo and he beat the shit out of me.”

Peter wrinkled his brow. “Why didn’t he take them with you when you moved?”

Flash shrugged. “No one to impress? I don’t know.” He threw the diploma at the quickly-filling trash can into which he had been discarding other items no one wanted.

MJ came out to join them, looking very upset. “Is there something you guys know that I don’t know but that you probably could have told me at any time and it wouldn’t have been a big deal but now you’ve waited so long you’ve made it weird?” She held out a baseball glove with E. F. Thompson written on it in black marker.

Flash looked at the glove and then up at Peter and sighed. “Yeah, I used to live here.” He snatched the glove from her hand and dropped it in the ‘save’ pile to his right.

“This was your house.”

He shrugged. “For a few years.”

“Which room was yours?”

“Yours.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged again. “Why would I? It’s just a house.”

“No way. Houses absorb our energy. They’re like set pieces in our souls.”

“Whaaaat?” Peter tried to say under his breath, but it came out a bit too loud.

“You two lived next door to each other. You literally grew up together.” MJ glared at Peter.

“Well, not really. Sort of.” He shrugged and scratched the back of his neck nervously.

She waited in silence for several minutes before huffing and shaking her head dismissively. “Whatever. Let’s get back to work. Flash, does your dad want to come pick his stuff up then?”

“He sold it with the house, I assume. Just keep what you want and throw the rest.”

“What about the car? Who would sell a car with a house?”

“It was my mom’s car. He never drove it. I’ll get it cleaned up and running for you if you want.”

“Flash is really good with cars! He fixed up his car, too.” Peter interjected excitedly.

“Hey, yeah,” MJ remembered. “Isn’t yours a Mustang, too?”

Flash rolled his eyes. “Coincidence. It was available.”

“Why didn’t you try to buy this one from my aunt? She probably would have just given it to you.”

“Because I don’t want my dead mom’s car, okay? She hardly ever drove the fucking thing anyway.” MJ and Peter stood still and watched Flash continue to throw frame after frame in the trash. Finally, he stood up with the tote in his hands and slammed it and its remaining contents into the garbage can. “I’m done here. Do your own work.” He stormed off to his car parked on the street and squealed his tires as he drove off.

“Must be PMS.” MJ put her hands on her hips and squinted at the red Mustang. “I guess that can just sit there tonight. Do you have a couple more hours?” She batted her eyes at Peter.

He shrugged. “Sure. We’re just about done anyway. Maybe we can finish up tonight.”

“Would be easier with three.”

“Give him a break. It was nice of him to help at all.”

“Are you kidding?! I mean, yes it was. But ‘give him a break’?! Did you forget who he is?”

“Yes. No. I mean, he’s just a guy. And his mom died here. What do you want from him?”

“Wait. Here like in the house here?” Peter shrugged. “Well, did she? I can’t live in a house with that kind of- How long do you think she was sick for?”

“Sick? I don’t think she was sick.”

“Liz said she died from cancer.”

“And you trust her because she’s so honest?” MJ glared at him. “Aunt May said it was a freak accident. The cops had it all taken care of in hours and no one ever found out what happened.”

“Ooh, that’s mysterious. You know, it could have been an inside job.”

“Don’t you dare Nancy Drew this!” Peter reacted quickly.

“What if his dad did it? Most murders are spousal.”

“No one said she was murdered.”

“Cops have high statistics of domestic violence and drug and alcohol abuse.”

“Pleeease don’t make this a project. MJ. Please.” Peter closed his eyes and sighed heavily as MJ turned and quietly returned to the garage.

 

Flash screeched to a halt and groaned as he pulled over to the curb in front of O’Donnall’s. The police cruiser parked ahead of him was cruiser 2187. Tank Thompson’s. Flash knew his dad wasn’t inside the bar writing out tickets or investigating a crime. He weighed his options. He could go home and wait for the inevitable phone call later that night from the barkeep or one of the patrons telling him to come pick his old man up. He’d have to walk to the bar without being mugged, talk his dad down off the barstool without getting clocked, and drive him home in the police cruiser. Or he could go in now and try to get his dad to call it a day and get back to work. The second option was riskier. He stepped out of his car and into the appropriately dusky bar.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Mac, I ain’t no racist. I’d fuck a black, yellow, ching chang, purple whatever chick ‘slong as she has a nice round ass and titties big enough to grab onto, ya know?” Tank slurred from his seat at the end of the bar. Drunk or not, he was a good enough cop once that he always seated himself with a full view of the room.

“I don’t know, man. Sex is different. Some guys’ll fuck a dog, they get desperate enough. Doesn’t mean you’re not racist because you’d get with a black girl.”

Tank saw his son walk in. “Here’s my son, he’ll tell ya. Boy, tell this darkie how I ain’t racist.” He motioned to the man in his left.

“Yeah, he’s an equal opportunity hater. Not a racist bone in his body.” Flash sat next to the black man. The bartender set a glass of beer in front of him without being asked.

“Whatever you say, junior.”

“Junior. Ha. That bastard don’t deserve a junior.”

Flash didn’t even know what that meant, so it was easy to ignore. “Hey, Dad, don’t you think you should be getting back to work? It’s like four o’clock. You’ve got a long night ahead of you yet.”

“Shut up, asshole. Who d’you think you are, tellin’ me what ta do? Fuckin’ asshole. I’ll kick the shit outta you, you try’n tell me what ta do agin.” He slammed his empty glass down and retrieved his tenth from the bartender. “Drink your fuckin’ beer and get the fuck outta here. Cunt.”

The black man stood quietly, laid his tab down on the bar and left hastily. Flash picked up his glass and drank.


	31. The Age of Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who’s been following this fic. I appreciate the kudos and comments! I never thought I’d write a fic of my own, but I had a few brain worms that I had to see in print, so this happened. It’s been quite a lot of fun. That being said, this chapter is a bit dark, so here ye be warned.

Spider-Man swung quickly through Times Square. He had successfully stopped an ATM mugging, three vandalisms, one child abduction, and a couple of traffic accidents. Following the long day of cleaning out a garage that hadn’t been entered in three years, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to shower first and then eat or eat first and then shower. Maybe he’d just eat in the shower. Was that a thing? And if not, could it be? He spotted a drunk stumbling along a bridge crossing over some railroad tracks and stopped on the side of a tenement to watch his progress. The guy was dragging his feet as he was walking, which caused him to lurch awkwardly from one side to the other. Every few steps, he would lurch right off the sidewalk and into the street. Then he would raise both arms in a questioning gesture, let them drop back down to his sides, and stand for about half a minute before climbing back onto the sidewalk and continuing on his journey. He finally lurched himself against the bridge wall and used that as a guide to help himself walk straight. He made quicker headway this way, dragging his left hand behind him along the concrete wall. When he finally made it to the apex of the bridge’s arc, the man stopped and leaned on both palms on the top of the waist-high wall. From his perspective, Spider-Man couldn’t tell if the man was staring off into the distance or down at the tracks. He could tell, however, that the man was suddenly eerily still. He jumped off the side of the building, shot a web at a lamppost to ease his descent, and landed purposely noisily about ninety feet away from the man. The guy didn’t flinch, but he did let out a long breath he’d apparently been holding. “I’m here alone, you’re here alone; what say we strike up an awkward conversation, me and you?” The man didn’t respond, so Spider-Man took a few steps forward. “You come here often?” No answer. Spidey inched closer. “Fancy meeting a guy like you in a place like this.” The man didn’t even peek his way. The superhero was now ten feet from the guy. “What’s your name?”

“Leemme alone.” The man’s voice was little more than a growl that emerged from under the hood of the dark jacket he was wearing.

“I don’t think I can do that. It’s freezing out, you are not wearing a winter coat or any gloves, you’re very, very drunk, and I think you pose a danger to yourself. What I’m about to do, I do for your own good.” His Spider-sense blared as the man turned and swung a haymaker his way. It missed and the man followed with another and a third. Thanks to Spider-Man’s warning system and reflexes and the man’s intoxication and lack thereof, every punch missed by a mile. When the man’s hood fell down after the third missed punch, Spider-Man put a palm against the drunk’s chest and pushed him down firmly, so that he ended up sitting on the concrete sidewalk with his back against the wall outlining the bridge. “Please tell me you weren’t out here doing what it looked like you were about to do, Flash.” Spider-Man’s classmate glared up at him with wet eyes, but the superhero didn’t know if that meant he was about to cry or if it was just because of the alcohol. “Why are you here? What are you doing? Why are you drunk?” When the teenager didn’t answer, Spidey plopped down beside him with a sigh. “Why do you have to wait until it’s ungodly cold to practice being homeless?”

“ ‘Snot that cold.” Flash let his hands drop to the sidewalk beneath him. He looked like an angry life-sized ventriloquist’s dummy.

“See how you could see your breath when you said that? I think the bank sign said it was twenty-eight degrees out. That’s literally freezing.”

“ ‘Sbeen be colder.”

“Boy, you’ve got a point there.” They sat in silence for a moment. “So, you’re twenty-one?”

“I’m sisteen.”

“Oh. I thought the legal drinking age is twenty-one.”

“It is.”

“So you like breaking the law? Who bought you the booze?” He raised his eyebrows under his mask as Flash started laughing. “Not joking. That wasn’t a joke.”

“My dad.”

“Your dad?!”

“Well, he put it on his tab anyway. I don’t know how often he ever pays his tabs. He’s a cop, I tell you that?” Flash was drunk-smiling.

“Yeah, you mentioned that the last time we talked. You remember that, right? When you were not dressed properly for not sleeping on a park bench? Your dad was somehow involved in that situation, too, not that you’d ever tell anyone.”

“He and I don’t get along.”

“Because he’s a cop and you’re a hoodlum?”

“Yeah.”

Spider-Man grimaced under his mask. He had made the accusation, knowing it wasn’t true, in order to guage Flash’s reaction. He had expected anger. What he got was the most dejected reply he’d ever heard. “What are you doing on the bridge, Flash?”

Flash shrugged. “Jus’ walking, I guess.”

“Why’d you stop walking up there? Over the train tracks?” Flash didn’t respond. “Your dad drinks a lot, doesn’t he?”

“Alla time.”

“Is he mean when he’s drunk?”

“Yeah.” His voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“What does he do when he’s mean?”

Drunk Flash shrugged one shoulder. “Yells and says stuff that isn’t true. Throws things and pushes me around. He’s always drunk. He’s a functioning alcoholic, you know what that means? He’s always drunk. He only seems drunk when he needs a drink. Gets shaky and sweaty and nervous.” He over-emphasized the words, making them easier to understand.

“Is he nice then? When he isn’t drinking?” Flash shook his head from side to side. “Does he ever say nice things to you?”

There was a long pause. “He used to sometimes. When Jesse was around, they tried to be good parents. Gotta be like the Parkers.”

“Huh? Who’s Jesse? Who are the Parkers?”

“My sisser. She was perfec’. But she’s gone now. Shoulda been me. Shoulda been never born.”

“Where did your sister go?” The superhero was afraid to ask.

“I don’t know. We weren’t s’pose’a know. Kids get the parents they deserve, and that’s why I hadda go back. ‘Cause I deserve it.” He sounded like he was reciting something from memory.

“Flash, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. Let’s get back to the present. Why did you get drunk and come out to this bridge?”

“Because I’m stupid, okay? I got the thing and I watched the stupid thing and I went to the stupid house with the stupid car... and I knew he’d be in a bar so I foun’ him! I can’t get it outta my head and it’s my fault and I thought if I drink it out-“ He was looking up at the sky and blinking rapidly. “It’s so stupid. I’m so stupid. Such a fucking waste of space asshole and I don’t deserve her. I shouldn’t even be here. I’d just ruin her, too, like I ruined ever’body else, you know? You know what? You know what you are? You’re a goddamned abortion, you piece of shit. You should do everyone a favor and just eat a bullet. Just do one decent thing in your pathetic little life and just... just... die, you motherfucker.” 

Spider-Man had gotten to his feet and stood in shock watching his classmate seem to fall apart at the seams. Flash’s eyes were tightly closed, he was grinding his fists into the concrete at his sides, and occasionally he would throw his head back into the concrete wall behind him. The web-slinger crouched down and placed a hand gently on Flash’s shoulder, which made the boy jump quickly and unsteadily to his feet. “Flash, calm down. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re not stupid, okay? You don’t deserve bad things. You need to sober up; it isn’t good to hurt yourself like this.”

“Isn’t good?! Isn’t good?! I’m not good! ‘Sgood enough for me, being out in the cold! I don’t deserve a house or... food...” The drunk athlete was tugging at his hair.

“Look, do you have somewhere safe to go? A friend’s or relative’s or something?”

Flash shook his head. “I don’t have any frien’s. ‘M pathetic.”

“What about one of your teammates?”

“Not when ‘m benched.”

“I saw you in Wilson Fisk’s building the other night. Don’t know what that’s about, but...”

“No. Don’t wanna owe him. He’s a bad man.”

“Yeah. My friend Daredevil saw you at Matthew Murdock’s apartment after the Koreatown fire.”

“Huh?” Flash looked Spider-Man in the eye sharply.

Spider-Man shrugged. “Yeah, I know Daredevil. I don’t get out to Hell’s Kitchen often, but...”

“He tol’ you ‘e saw me? Was ‘e foll’wing me?”

Spidey scratched the back of his neck nervously. “Well, he was sort of investigating the fire and wanted to make sure you were okay. Not the point. Could I help you get to Murdock’s?”

Flash suddenly drooped his shoulders and looked away. “No, I can’t go there. Go ‘way from me. Leemme alone.” He turned and started back up the bridge.

“I can’t do that, Flash. You’re not safe right now. I need to get you to somewhere safe.”

Flash spun around. “There’s nowhere safe! Okay? Not for me! There’s cops an’ killers an’ liars an’ jus’... ever’body wants’a hurt me and nobody cares!” He rubbed his eyes with balled up fists. “Why does it have ta hurt? Huh? Alla time! Why does Gwen die and George die and Mr. and Mrs. Kim and my dad gets ta live? Why do the bad guys always win? What did I ever do? I can’t even...” He had been flailing his arms around as he yelled, but now he let them drop heavily to his sides and his voice died off. He seemed to have run out of steam.

“I’ve got a place you can sleep tonight, Flash. Do you trust me?” He was taken aback when the jock sadly shook his head in the negative. “What, you don’t trust me?”

Flash’s voice was small. “I didn’t think you woulda lied ta me. But I guess you’re jus’ a guy.” A train whistle blew in the distance and both boys looked to see the three lights of the lead engine approach steadily.

“You aren’t planning on jumping onto the tracks anytime soon, are you?” Spider-Man was ready for the upset boy to bolt.

“No.” He didn’t move as he watched the train draw close and then pass under their feet.

“Changed your mind?” He didn’t know if Flash heard him over the sound of the train beneath them. He stepped closer to the boy who seemed lost in his thoughts. “What are you thinking about, Flash? Flash? Are you with me?” Spider-Man gripped each of Flash’s biceps. “Tell me you’re not thinking about harming yourself, Flash.”

“I’m not gonna kill myself.” He paused as Spider-Man sighed in relief. “I wouldn’t min’ if the bridge broke.”

“Like while the train’s passing under? You wouldn’t mind if the bridge collapsed over a moving train? That’s hardly a thought that would come from a non-suicidal man.”

“I’m not gonna kill myself, I jus’-”

“You just want to die?”

“No, I jus’... don’t... wanna be here.” Flash stared off towards the disappearing train.

“I don’t want you to be here, either. Let’s go see if Murdock’s home.”

“No, don’t wanna bother him. He’s inna middle a some... something.” Flash’s eyes were unfocused and his eyelids didn’t open completely.

“I’m not leaving you without trusted supervision. So either we go to Murdock’s or I’m taking you home with me. Your choice.”

“You live inna hole inna groun’? Like a spider man? Inna funnel?” He was drunk-smiling again, although his eyes were still wet and miraculously not spilling over.

Spider-Man put his arms around Flash’s torso and lifted him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. He jumped off the side of the bridge, shot out a web, and swung away muttering, “Please don’t get sick, please don’t get sick.” By the time Flash realized what was going on, they were dropping down in front of a tenement in Hell’s Kitchen.

“No! I said I can’t come here.” Flash was angry, but exhaustion was winning out. He slowly led the way up the steps and through the halls to Matt’s door.

The door opened just as Spider-Man knocked. Creepy. “Special delivery.”

Flash stepped into the apartment with his head hung low and walked right into Matt, resting his head against the lawyer’s chest. Matt put his arms firmly around the boy’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Matty. I didn’t wanna do it.”

Matt's glasses were off and his blank eyes pointed in Spider-Man’s direction. Spidey stepped in and closed the door. “It’s okay now, E.T. Go back and lay down. You want a shower first?” He led Flash back through the apartment with his strong hand on the boy’s back. When they got to Matt’s bedroom, he helped the boy kick his shoes off and drew the covers over him when Flash buried his face into the pillow. “Sleep well, kid.” He closed the door and approached the masked teenager standing awkwardly in the living room. “What do I need to know?”

Spider-Man shifted nervously. “Um, it came up that he knew you. I didn’t know where else to take him.”

“‘It came up’, huh? Where did this all occur?”

“The old rail bridge. The overpass. He was... I think he was going to jump. He was waiting for the train to come.”

“And you happened to be in the area? Was he drinking there?”

“No, he walked there drunk. I don’t know how far. He said his dad was buying him drinks at a bar.”

“Son of a bitch.” Matt low-level exploded. “His knuckles were cut up. Was he in a fight?”

Spider-Man was shocked. “How did you-? No, I don’t think so, anyway. He tried to hit me when I approached him. I set him down on the ground, and while he was talking, he kind of ground his fists into the cement. He was really upset. He said some things...”

“What kinds of things?”

“He seems... is he depressed? Suicidal? It seems like his home life isn’t the most positive influence.”

“Does it? Does it seem that way? It seems like you may have taken advantage of his condition.”

What? “What?”

“Did he, in his impaired state, open up to his hero? Or to his classmate?” Matt crossed his arms over his chest.

“Whaat?”

“Would he have said the things he said to Spider-Man to Peter Parker?”

Spidey’s eyes widened beneath his mask. “Whaaat?”

Matt pointed his finger at the younger hero. “You used your anonymity against a vulnerable boy, and that wasn’t fair. You are actively deceiving him and that is the last, trust me, the last thing he needs right now!”

“I don’t know what you’re...”

“Save it, Peter. If you really want to help him, you’ll be there for him as his friend, not his false savior.”

Spidey put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “Whoa. Whoa. How do you even...”

“I’m blind, not stupid. I can smell, hear. Our sight becomes a crutch and we forget how to use our other senses.” Peter remembered the folder Matt had caught in his office. “You could at least attempt to disguise your voice. Although you can’t do much to cover up your distinct smell.”

“My smell?” Spidey lifted an arm and smelled his armpit. “Did you know as soon as I walked in here?”

Matt smirked. “I’ve known for a while, Peter. This is my city.”

“How long have you known Flash? How are you friends?”

“Since he was born, really. They moved in to the apartment down the hall from my dad and me when Flash was a few months old. I was eleven. We were in the rooms on top of the gym. I believe he took you there?” Matt had made his way to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water for Peter.

Spidey accepted the glass and flopped down onto the leather couch while Matt took a seat in the armchair across from him. “Yeah, he showed me the trophy wall with your dad and his dad and Wilson Fisk.”

Matt nodded. “You might be more comfortable with your mask off. Flash is sleeping and I wouldn’t be much help to a sketch artist.”

“You don’t have any curtains on your windows.”

“Light’s by the door. We’re back-lit. Just dark shadows to any passing helicopters or rooftop peepers.”

“I saw in fine when I...”

“Oops.” Matt smirked. “I had the rest of the lights on that night. Wanted anyone who was curious to know he was here.”

“What’s he into?”

Matt shook his head. “He’s an unfortunate victim of circumstance. The adults in his life have always been more interested in gaining power and influence than serving their community. The actual opposite of the adults in your life. You two are a sociologist’s wet dream.”

“How can I help him? Is he- should I- will it do any good?”

“Are you asking me if he’s worth it? I can’t tell the future, Peter, but I don’t think he’s worth any less than you or me. In fact, I do think he deserves to be treated squarely. If you want to help him, let him know you’re on his side. Be his friend. If you have to pull him off a bridge again, that’s one thing, but don’t you dare ever again pretend to care for him while you’re wearing that mask. Don’t use your secrets to try to figure out his.”

Peter pulled off his mask and looked at Matt wearily. “His dad’s a drunk. I’ve seen Flash with bruises and marks that are not from sports. There’s at least some physical abuse and definitely psychological abuse. He’d rather sleep on a park bench than at home sometimes. I have to go to the police. Or social services.”

“If they pull him from his home, Wilson Fisk will take custody. His dad is bad; Wilson Fisk is evil.”

“I know Fisk is a criminal, but Flash stayed with him for a week and seemed fine. Maybe that’s better. The lesser of two evils.”

“Wilson Fisk is certainly not the lesser evil.” Matt leaned forward in his chair. “The kid’s like my little brother. If Flash would be better off somewhere else, I would have gotten him removed years ago.”

“Like Jesse?”

Matt sat back and picked up his glasses from the side table. He slowly put them on and faced Peter. “He told you about Jesse?”

“Just that he’s got a sister and doesn’t know where she is. Did you have her removed?”

“I was in law school when that all happened. I never even met her. I can’t even prove she exists.”

Peter wrinkled his brow. “You think he made her up?”

“No, I said I can’t prove she exists. He doesn’t talk about her often. I’m surprised he told your alter-ego about her.”

“He told his girlfriend once, too, when he was drunk. Maybe that’s his thing. He seems to blame himself for her being gone. What do you know about that?”

“That’s his story to tell. Go home. Go to sleep. It’s late.” He stood and walked to the front door, opening it for his guest.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Peter pulled his mask back on and met Matt at the door.

“He’s resting safe for the night. One day at a time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murdock. I’ll be in touch.” He stepped into the hall and turned to shake Matt’s hand.

“No need.” Matt closed the door on Spider-Man and his extended hand.

“Oh. Okay.” He started down the dark hall. “It’s because he’s blind, right? He didn’t see me. Don’t take it personally, Spidey.” He made it to the street and swung his way home.

 

Peter scarfed down the rest of his waffles and orange juice and ran to the front door. “Shee you affer work, Aunt May!” He yelled with his mouth still full. He jumped over the rickety fence into MJ’s yard, breaking off another piece of it in the process.

“We really need to replace that fence, huh, Tiger?”

“Or just take it down. It’s a stupid fence anyway.” Flash’s voice came from under the hood of the red Mustang, where he was currently tugging at a belt. MJ was standing beside him in a green mid-cropped sleeveless shirt and tight blue jeans.

“Flash?!” Peter blurted, spraying waffle crumbs.

“And MJ. Don’t forget about MJ.” She pouted.

“What are you doing here?! I thought you’d be-” Shut! Up! Mouth!

Flash didn’t wait for the end of the sentence. “I’m trying to get this thing running so Mary Jane can drive it.” He straightened up with the serpentine belt in his hand. “It’ll be a while.”

“So I am studying.” She gleefully held up a New York Driver’s Manual and beamed. “By the time I pass my permit test, Flash will have the car running and be able to teach me how to drive! Aunt Anna said I can borrow the car until I graduate and then it’ll be my graduation gift! Isn’t that hot?!!” She squealed and bounced up and down.

“Uh, yeah. That’s... hot.” Peter and Flash were both mesmerized by the cute girl being cute beside them. “But it’s Sunday, right? Weren’t we going to go ice skating?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you guys a ride. I’ll pick some stuff up at the auto parts store.” Flash motioned to his car parked on the street and picked up a shop towel to wipe his hands on.

“How did that get there?” Peter was dumb-struck, which earned him a quizzical look from Flash.

“I parked it there.”

“Yeah, but... I mean, when did you get here?”

“He brought me breakfast in bed, wasn’t that sweet? Aunt Anna thinks he’s courting me now.” She batted her eyes at Flash and gave him her best 1950’s shy cartoon farm girl pose.

“In bed?” Peter didn’t catch the towel Flash threw at him.

“Come on, don’t want to be late.” Flash led the way to his car as Mary Jane skipped and Peter stumbled confusedly after. She pulled on her winter coat on the way. Although it was currently around forty degrees, it was going to be much colder on the ice.

“Shotgun!” MJ giggled and ruffled Peter’s hair as Flash opened the passenger door and pulled the seat forward so the confused boy could climb in. Once Peter was settled in the backseat, Flash helped the delighted girl into the car and closed the door behind her. He walked around to the driver’s side and climbed in. He started the engine and put on his sunglasses.

“Thought I’d drop you at the 71st street stop and let you take the train to Rockefeller? I’ll get the parts I need and come back here to work on your car. I can come pick you up again when you’re done if you want.”

“Why don’t you come skating with us?” Peter offered and received a strange look from the jock.

“He has work to do. Besides, a rink full of noisy kids is the last thing you need, huh, Sport?”

Peter watched MJ run her fingernails along Flash’s scalp. “Why’s that? Is ice skating the one sport you can’t do?”

Flash scoffed. “You wish. I’d kick your ass in that, too, egghead.”

MJ turned and rested her chin on the back of her seat to face Peter. “He has a major headache this morning. Nothing some auto maintenance won’t fix!”

Peter noticed Flash smirk and felt like going in for the kill. Breakfast in bed, indeed. “What’s the headache from? Hung over?”

Flash was expressionless, but MJ laughed. “Puh-lease. Like there’d be a party in town I wouldn’t have known about? Ooh! Here’s our stop! Come on, Tiger!” She opened the car door before Flash had even come to a complete stop. After Peter climbed out, she leaned back in and kissed Flash’s cheek. “Thanks for the lift, stud. See you in a few!” She grabbed Peter’s hand and drug him to the stairs leading down to the subway tunnel.

“I didn’t know Flash was coming over today.” Peter muttered as they reached the platform.

“He said he’d work on the car.” MJ shrugged. “Don’t let his mood swings get to you. Just pretend he’s a teenaged girl. Up and down, up and down.” She swiped her subway pass and worked her way through the turnstile.

“But he’s not a girl. He’s a creep that apparently brings teenaged girls breakfast in bed. Like that’s normal.” He followed the redhead and stood with his arms crossed as they waited for the train.

“Oh, grumpy. It was just a bagel and coffee. And I’m sure Liz sent him over with it to make peace.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke.

“Huh?”

MJ sighed and glared at him. “Liz and I have been on the outs because of the whole Flash situation. She thought I was taking his side, when I clearly was not. So they made up and now she wants to make up with me. Obviously. Dumb girl stuff.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize they had gotten back together.” Peter felt slightly embarrassed.

“Well, they never really broke up. She’s been over at his place an awful lot for someone who wasn’t dating the guy. But they must have made it official last night, because she texted me with a play by play this morning before Flash came over.”

They watched the train squeal to a stop and made their way through the crowd. “Last night? Like what time?”

“She texted me around two, two thirty, and he was over at nine this morning. Do not ask to see the texts, it’s seriously TMI.” She clutched Peter’s jacket as the train took off and the standing passengers all shifted to keep their balance.

“I’m confused. Because I saw Flash at the trainyard last night at like midnight and he didn’t say he was going on a date.”

“Well, it wasn’t a date so much as a hookup. He was probably on his way home. Like I said, TMI. But if they’re happy, I’m happy. She likes giving orders and he seems to like taking them, so match made in heaven. Let’s see how long it lasts this time.” The train stopped at Rockefeller Center and MJ grabbed Peter’s hand as they made their way to street level.

 

They spent the next two hours gliding over the ice. Peter thought that MJ’s laughter was the reason the sun peeked out from behind the clouds. She was amazing. He felt a twinge of guilt about an hour into their afternoon when he suddenly realized he didn’t, in that moment, miss Gwen. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though, as MJ took her scarf off and used it in lieu of a ribbon as she pretended to be a ribbon dancing gymnast. On ice. Or something to that effect. It was hilarious. “Buy me a cup of cocoa?”

Peter finished tying his shoes and stood up from the bench. “Of course! Anything for my dancing queen.” They hurried over to a man selling cocoa and roasted nuts from a wheeled cart on the sidewalk. As Peter ordered two cups, MJ pulled out her cellphone. “Calling Flash?”

“Yeah, but there’s no answer.” MJ looked confused. “Want to just take a cab? Aunt Anna gave me twenty bucks.”

“Sure. It’s a little cold to walk.”

“Yeah, it dropped like forty degrees since we’ve been here. Get that guy!” She excitedly pointed to an available cab.

“Hey!” Peter yelled and waved his arm, causing the cab to pull up to the curb. He opened the back door. “After you, milady.” He climbed into the cab after her and gave the cabbie her address.

“That was fun.” Her phone dinged and she looked at the text.

\+ sorry, was under the car. ready to come home? flash

“Flash was under the car. I’m telling him we’re on our way.”

= took a cab. no wrys! c u soon!

“You have a car. That’s exciting.” Peter said.

“Well, I will have one when he gets it fixed and I learn how to drive, anyway. I’m kind of nervous about that!”

“You’ll be great. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“Aaw! You’re too sweet.” She laid her head on Peter’s shoulder and kept it there until they pulled up to her house. She handed the twenty to the cabbie as they climbed out. “Oh, Flash! We’re home!”

“Good. Turn the key. I need to see what’s not working here.” He answered from under the hood.

“Do what now?” MJ approached him and wrinkled her nose. “Ew. You’re a mess.”

He grinned at her. “This is what a man looks like, baby. Learn to love it.”

“Maybe I’m more into three-piece suits and manicured fingernails.”

He shrugged. “To each her own, I guess. Get behind the wheel and turn the key all the way forward until I tell you to stop.”

“I’m not gonna run you over, am I?” She sat in the driver’s seat with her legs firmly on the driveway.

“The parking brake works. Go ahead, crank her up!” MJ turned the key and the car groaned. After several seconds, Flash shouted, “Okay, that’s enough!” He stood up and wiped his hands off on his shop towel. “I’m done for now. I have to take the clutch apart.”

“Maybe you just need a new battery.” Peter suggested. He was having such a lovely day with MJ until she saw stupid Flash again.

Said idiot smirked. “I put a new battery in. The starter is turning over, but the flywheel isn’t engaging. So I need to take the clutch apart and clean everything up to see if I can get the gears to all turn again. I have a new solenoid ready to put in, since the old one is probably all dried up. But that’s all going to be a good four or five hour day, so I’ll do it when it’s nice again. Okay, genius?”

“I’m going home. See you tomorrow, MJ.”

“Bye, Tiger! Thanks for the day!” She waved as her neighbor walked down the driveway and into his front yard. “So another day then. Are you hungry? You can get cleaned up and take a nap while I make dinner.”

Flash hesitated. “I should head home.”

“Come on, I’m offering a home-cooked meal.”

“I haven’t had a good meal in a while.”

“Shower, nap, food. You like pasta, right?” She pushed him towards the house.

“I do...”

“You can nap in your old room. It’ll be like a blast from the past. With girly smells.”

Flash stopped abruptly. “Yeah, I should go home.”

“Dude. You’re like a freaking zombie. Get clean and get some rest. I’ll make you the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

Flash sighed and gave in. “Okay. I’m really hungry.”

“And really tired.”

“And really tired.” He allowed himself to be led into the house he was so familiar with.


	32. Why Ask Why

“So, I don’t want to piss you off...”

“Then you probably shouldn’t talk to me.”

“You may be right, but I don’t want to live with any more regrets. There were things I wanted to say to other people in my life and never did, and then they were taken from me and I lost my chance. So here goes.”

As Peter took an incredibly deep breath to steel his nerves, presumably, Flash pushed himself out from underneath Mary Jane’s car. He had brought over a shop creeper from the NYPD auto shop to make it easier to crawl in and out. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I wanted to ask you-”

“No.” He shook his head. “No asking. No talking, no sharing, no making this a thing.” He gestured between himself and Peter with greasy hands. “I’m not ‘in your life’, dude, okay? I’m nowhere near in the mood for this and anyway this is over. This is stupid. We don’t like each, remember?”

“But so many people close to us have died. Like an abnormally high number. And you react your way and I react my way and our reactions, like, counteract-” Peter was talking with his hands and stumbling over his unplanned words. He had planned this conversation out, damn it, and Flash wasn’t cooperating!

“I don’t care. Do you hear me? I. Do. Not. Care. You’re so smart, why can’t you get this? I want you far away from me.” He raised himself off of the creeper and sat behind the steering wheel. He turned the key and the car roared to life, black smoke pouring out of the exhaust pipe. A couple of weeks had gone by during a cold snap, and this was the first nice day in February. It happened to be a Saturday, so Flash had come over that morning and spent the past seven hours disassembling and reassembling the clutch, changing the brake pads, and replacing the brake lines. He pumped the brakes a few times before getting out of the car and returning to his original position. As he walked past Peter, who was sitting on a wheeled desk chair near the front bumper, Flash body-checked the nervous boy, sending him rolling down the driveway several feet.

“Why do you do that?” Peter rolled himself back to the car.

“Why not?” Flash retorted from under the car.

“It’s a dickish thing to do.”

“It’s a masculine thing to do.”

“Overcompensating?”

“Step on the brake, would you?”

Peter sat behind the steering wheel and pressed his foot on the brake pedal. “You said once you don’t want me dead. I don’t want you dead, either.”

“Great. Let’s go to best friends camp.” Flash grunted as he adjusted the brakes’ calipers.

“I’m serious. I don’t want anyone else I know to die.”

“Step on the brake like a man.”

Peter pressed harder with his foot. “Is that manly enough, masculine manly man?”

“Like a man, not a gorilla! Jesus, Parker. If Mary Jane had to put that much pressure on the brakes, she’d need to stand on the fucking pedal.”

Peter could feel the pedal move as Flash worked underneath. “Why do you always have to prove how tough you are?”

“I don’t.”

“Of course you do! Always acting like nothing bothers you, showing off in front of other guys by bullying smaller kids, you can’t even pass a guy in the hall without wrestling around with him. It’s almost homoerotic.”

Flash thought he knew what that word meant, but wasn’t totally sure, so he ignored it. “It’s called being a guy, asshole. You just don’t know because...” He stopped and focused on the brakes.

“Because why? Because I’m literate?”

Flash rolled out from beneath the car and sighed. “Look, it’s not your fault. Your dad was a geek and your uncle was a hippie. I’m surprised you didn’t turn out gay.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Are you sure?” The jock raised his eyebrows and grabbed a pliers before scooting back under the car.

“Yes, I’m sure.” All he could see of Flash was his legs sticking out from underneath the car, so Peter didn’t know if the other boy reacted at all. He noticed Flash’s shoes were splitting around the top of the sole. He had glued his own shoes when that had begun to happen. He thought briefly about offering the solution to his classmate, but decided against it.

“Okay, you can let off the brake. That should be good.” Flash pushed himself out from beneath the Mustang and stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll give them a good test once I get it running.”

“Want me to kill the engine?”

“No, I need it nice and hot to soak the pistons. I’m sure they’re all gunked up.” He ducked under the hood and pressed his ear near the engine.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, you can hear the rattle. What else do you have to do to it?”

Flash shrugged and straightened up. “I’ll see how much carbon I can clean off tonight, and maybe do another soak after that, then take her around the block. Hopefully that’ll be it. The tires only have a few hundred miles on them, they were a Christmas gift from my dad, but they’ve been sitting with a lot of weight on one area for five years, so I’m not sure how reliable they are. Probably good enough to get around town.” He was examining the tires as he spoke.

“Oh my god.” Peter said softly. “That was your last Christmas with your mom? Did you ride in this car with her sometimes? I keep forgetting-”

“Shut up. I don’t want to talk about my dead mom in front of my dead mom’s car in my dead mom’s driveway by my dead mom’s house.” Flash’s eyes were blazing. “You’re such a retard.”

Peter dropped his own eyes to his shoes, embarrassed. “Sorry. I just- I was asking my aunt about growing up lately and she said she was so nice and that the accident was such a mystery and so sa-oof!” The air was forced from his lungs as Midtown High’s starting quarterback did his best impression of a lineman and tackled Peter to the ground. Peter’s spider-sense gave him just enough time to dodge the impact, but the stammering boy wasn’t concentrating on his situation. In his unawareness, he failed to block the first three of Flash’s blows to his face. He finally brought his hands up to stop the onslaught, when a torrent of cold liquid landed on his face. Flash rolled off of him and both wet boys looked up in surprise at Mary Jane Watson, standing with two empty glasses in one hand, an empty pitcher in the other, and a glare on her face.

“I thought I’d bring you boys some lemonade. I hope you liked it.”

“Sorry, MJ.” Peter mumbled as he and Flash both scrambled to their feet.

“How’s the car coming along, Flash?” She bit.

“I’ll be out here another hour. Then we’ll see.” He angrily grabbed a wrench from his tool box and leaned back under the hood.

“And Peter’s been a big help, then?” She glared at the brunette.

“Peter can kiss my ass.” Flash muttered and Peter shrugged.

“I’m going to go stick my face in some ice. See you later, MJ.” He left the scene rapidly.

“What the hell, Thompson?” She tucked the pitcher under the arm holding the glasses and used her free hand to slap Flash on the shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” He grunted as he tugged the hose from the air intake. He bent down and dug through his pile of parts for the carbon cleaner he’d picked up the other day.

“I don’t know why you guys hate each other so much.” She watched Flash work a while. “You want to use my shower to clean up? You can stay for dinner if you want.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Sweet boy.” She scratched his back lightly. “I’ll be inside. Send me a text when you want to come in.”

 

Flash hung his head and let the cold water rain over him. The cold soothed his pounding headache and aching knuckles. He’d woken up that morning in Matt’s bed, grateful for the dark and quiet. Matt’s room was actually a corner walk-in closet that had no windows and that he had insulated with noise dampening pieces. They cost him a fortune, but the benefit of being able to cancel out every sound but his own heartbeat and breathing made the financial toll worth it. Even Flash could hear his own headache; the blood pulsing behind his eyes and over his ears. As he eased into full consciousness, he could feel the soreness of his feet and hands and the tightness in his neck and shoulders. He remembered little of the previous night, but felt the weight of depression linger over him and assumed he’d once again let his weakness let him fall into booze and anger. It had become the past month’s theme. He sighed and turned the water off. Stepping out of Mary Jane’s shower, he quickly grabbed the towel off the vanity and covered his modesty as the doorknob turned and the door to the bathroom opened.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I thought you were Mary. I was just going to let her know that dinner was ready.” A woman with long blonde-streaked red hair wobbled in the doorway. She wore a low-cut tank top that didn’t quite cover up the pink bra that didn’t quite cup her entire bosom and capri leggings. A lit cigarette hung from one hand and her green eyes traveled over her daughter’s guest’s near-naked frame.

“I’m not Mary.”

“Oh, I can see that. You can just come anyway. Come whenever you’re ready.” 

Her obvious innuendo was obvious and Flash felt bile rise up in his throat. “Okay.” He whispered. She winked as she closed the door and he quickly leaned over and spit in the sink. What. The. Hell. So that was obviously Mary Jane’s mom, right? And she was clearly drunk, right? Flash pulled on a clean change of clothes he pulled out of the duffel bag he always kept in the trunk of his car and stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall. He saw Mary Jane sitting on her bed, face as red as her hair.

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were wet and her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

Flash stepped into her room and closed the door slightly. “You couldn’t have left that in California?” He set his bag on the floor and held an arm out as she rose from her bed, letting her tears fall. She stepped into his embrace and buried her face in his chest.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I’m the last person that’s going to judge you for having a parent like that. My dad brings home hookers on a regular basis.”

“Really? Let me know if she shows up at your house sometime, huh?”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, is she really-” It was his turn to be embarrassed.

“No. She just acts like one. A stupid one. Doesn’t realize she could be getting paid for it, I guess.” Mary Jane sniffled and hugged Flash tightly before letting go. She wiped her eyes as she stepped back towards her bed. She stood beside it and hugged her arms around her midsection.

“Hey, you won’t be with her forever. And you have your aunt, right?” Flash inched toward her and gently rubbed her back with one hand.

She nodded. “Yeah, my aunt is great! I just wish...”

“What?”

“Am I a terrible person for wishing my mom was just out of my life? She’s always criticizing me and making me feel bad just because she’s getting older and she’s alone, and she’s drunk half the time and hung over the other half. I just feel so trapped!” She started crying again and folded into Flash’s arms.

“Mary Jane, I think you’re just about the kindest, most inspiring person I’ve ever met. You energize everyone around you, you find a positive in every situation, you have this joy that I don’t even know where it comes from.” He held her tighter as a sob wracked through her. “I’m sorry you don’t have better parents, because you deserve to be supported and respected. You deserve to be loved. This will all be behind you someday, okay? You can fight through this. This is nothing.”

She stepped away from Flash and wiped her eyes dry, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Flash. You make me believe that.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Still hungry? I’m going to splash some water on my face and we can head down.”

“Yeah. I feel like I could eat a horse.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be actual food. My aunt cooked. Mom doesn’t know a spoon from a colander.” She scooped a handful of water onto her face and pat it dry with a hand towel.

 

“Hey, Robbie, do we have access to 911 records?”

Joe Robertson glanced up from his notes. “I’ve got them right here.” He waved a handful of paper at the boy who was leaning into his office doorway. “Transcripts from every 911 call about the fire and every call incoming from Hell’s Kitchen from six months prior. What are you looking for?”

“Um... A call from 2010. Summer of.”

Robbie raised an eyebrow. “Does this have to do with the case you’re helping me research? How long has the Hand been in New York?”

“Um... This is a different thing. An unsolved case from then.”

“Okay.” Robbie closed the file he had been perusing. “First rule of investigative journalism. Start a case, close a case, THEN start another case.”

“You seem to have a lot of first rules.” Peter mumbled. “So I was researching our case and it brought up a couple of things that made me think of something that happened when I was in sixth grade...”

“Peter. Cross reference these transcripts with the case files you have been combing through. I’m comparing witness statements. Why don’t you look into procedural aspects?” He held out the stack of papers until Peter came in and grabbed them. Robbie didn’t relax his grip. “Whoa! Who’d you scuffle with?”

Peter rubbed his still-bruised cheekbone. “Just a guy.”

“Was there a girl involved?” Robbie smirked knowingly.

“Uh, yeah. There was a girl there.”

“Get out of here, Crusher Creel.”

“Huh?”

“Boxer from the day. Do you follow any sports?” He was ribbing the boy.

“Sure, guy from Hell’s Kitchen, right?” He totally guessed.

“Nah. Bronx. Sure he fought in the Kitchen, though. They’ve got that annual tournament at Jack’s.”

“Battlin’ Jack’s, yeah. You follow boxing?”

“Had to. I went a few rounds myself when I was in college. Never made it to the tourney circuit, though. I was too honest. Besides, I didn’t have the time it takes to dedicate yourself to that sport. Say, if we buckle down here, I’ll take you to tonight’s match. I’ve got an extra ticket.”

“Really? That’d be great!”

“Six o’clock. Get stuff done.” He shooed the boy away with his hand.

Peter ran down the hall to his cubicle and sat at his desk. He picked up the paper he had scattered across the desktop and stacked it in a neat pile on the floor. Then he laid out the papers from Robbie. There weren’t many calls from the past few months, but the number of calls from last year was astonishing. Multiple calls from multiple callers every night for a three-month period turned into multiple calls per week and then a few per month until it turned into one or two calls over the last few months. Most of those were passers-by, not residents. Either the area crime had suddenly stopped- Daredevil?- or the callers were. Peter widened his eyes as he spotted a commonality. He gathered up the papers and flew out of his office and straight into a solid body. “Oof!” His papers scattered around him.

“I was just coming to get you for the fight. What’s your rush?” Robbie chuckled, although concernedly.

“I found something, look!” Peter was laying out the papers and pointing at a line on each of them in rapid succession.

“Slow down, kid! Here, mark what you see.” The veteran newsman handed the frantic boy a highlighter pen.

Peter grabbed the pen and started circling. “Responding officer: Thompson. Responding officer: Thompson. Responding officer: Thompson.” He circled the name each time it came up; on nearly every report. “Does New York only have one officer? Huh?” He looked up at his coworker excitedly.

“No, I would have noticed... hold on. Come here. Bring those here.” Peter followed him into his office where Robbie opened the same file he’d been combing through for weeks. “Read me those dates, the ones Thompson was called out to.”

Peter found the earliest date. “June 21st.”

“Reporting officer: Thompson.”

“June 30th.”

“Reporting officer: Thompson.”

“July 11th.”

“Reporting officer: Allace.”

“July 14th.”

“Reporting officer: Simpson.”

“July 20, 21, 22.”

“Jefferson, Choulet, DeGras.” Robbie looked up at Peter, confused. “There’s a different officer on every report going forward. They don’t change shifts and beats that often.”

“Thompson is always the responding officer.”

“Could be they assign the same officer for emergency calls and he sends out cars to the scene. That would be a highly irregular way of operating. Let’s get to that fight, Peter. I need to churn this around in the ol’ noggin.” He gathered all of the reports together and flipped the light switch off on his way out the door.

“Are we going to drive or take the subway?” Peter asked as he followed the editor to the elevator.

“We’ll take my car. And after I get you home after the fight, remind me to take myself straight home, would ya?”

Peter nodded. “You would come back here otherwise?”

“My ex didn’t divorce me for no reason.” They stepped into the elevator and Robbie pushed the button for the ground floor.


	33. Keep On Running

Flash pulled up behind the squad car and sighed, letting his head fall back against the headrest. Why can’t his dad get back on the night shift? Life was so much easier when Harrison was home sleeping while Flash was in school and working when Flash was home. Instead, he’s once again stuck feeling like he’s walking into a mine field. Flash never knew what mood his dad was in until he walked through the door. Best case scenario, the old man’s passed out drunk in his recliner and Flash is able to sneak past him and into bed. Worst case, Tank’s been drinking while waiting for his son to come home so they can have a little “talk”. He’d slept at Matt’s the past two nights and Kong’s the night before that, so Flash figured he’d have to square up and take it like a man this time. He climbed out of his car and walked to the front door. They hadn’t replaced the front window yet, so he couldn’t peek inside for a preview of what awaited him. He took a deep breath and let it out before opening the front door. The next few minutes would sear themselves onto Flash’s memory. His dad, shirtless and pants half on, working on top of a gasping naked woman, one of his hands gripping the back of the couch and her hands clawing at his shoulders. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. He turned in disgust and stopped. Hanging on the hall tree beside the front door was a familiar pink leather jacket. Frantically, Flash turned to take in the scene again. Her hands, pink and white painted nails clawing at the large man’s shoulders, her legs searching for leverage, her reddish blonde curls held in Tank’s tight grip. “Liz!” Flash launched himself over the back of the couch and he wrenched his dad off of the girl, grunting as he flung the much heavier man across the room. Before Harrison could catch his breath, Flash was on him with both fists, opting for all head shots in the hope of stunning the policeman.

“Flash! Stop! Get off of him!”

Flash’s fist halted in midair and he snapped his head around to face Liz. Was she hurt? “Do you need-“ She was curled up on the couch, covering herself with Harrison’s shirt, eyes wide. Then Flash felt something heavy smash into the back of his head and he was picked up and tossed handily across the room and into a table lamp before the lights went out.

 

“Come again, dear!” Peter waved to MJ and Anna as he left their house. He’d been invited over for the best turkey dinner he’d ever had, don’t tell Aunt May. May wouldn’t be done at the hospital for a couple of hours, so Peter decided to take a long walk on his way to pick her up. He headed east, towards Flash’s neighborhood. He hadn’t seen the boy in a couple of weeks outside of class and wondered how his schoolwork was coming along without the tutor help. As he drew closer to the Thompsons’ house, his spider-sense buzzed softly. Not an immediate threat, but danger nonetheless. “What does that mean?” He asked aloud and crept silently towards the front door. It was ajar and there was a flickering glow emanating from the doorway. Peter stepped up to the door and peeked inside. He heard soft shrieks and voices from upstairs. He stepped inside and saw a fire lit in the fireplace, casting a soft glow about the room. Flash was laying on the floor in front of the fireplace, his arm dangerously close to the flames. “Flash?” Peter called and walked quickly towards the prone athlete who’d evidently thrown his own letterman’s jacket into the fire. Was he drunk again? “Flash.” Peter reached out and pulled his classmate’s arm away from the fire. He grimaced as his hand gripped a sticky wetness that covered Flash’s arm.

Flash gave a choking cry and used his free hand to grab Peter’s grip. “Ow!” He pushed Peter back and they both struggled and fumbled to their feet, Peter using his now sticky hand to catch Flash as he lurched forward and vomited into the fireplace.

“Geez, are you o-?”

“Ssh!” Flash threw his left hand over Peter’s mouth. He waited for the noises from upstairs to continue, then urged Peter to follow him towards the front door and into the night. After walking a couple of blocks, Flash spoke up. “So you just walk into people’s houses?”

“I was just walking and saw the fire. I didn’t know you had a fireplace, I guess. The door was open.”

“If my dad was sitting there and you walked in, he’d shoot you, you know.” His voice was muffled.

“Did you throw your letterman’s jacket in the fire?”

Flash paused. “No.”

“Did you know it was in there?”

“No.”

“Sorry, man. I know those are expensive and you worked hard for the patches. Where are we going?” They walked through the brightly-lit parking lot of the local police station and Peter finally saw what the sticky substance on his hand was. His entire palm and the spots on his jeans and T-shirt where he’d wiped it were red with his classmate’s blood. “Flash?” The jock’s forearm had a gash running lengthwise and blood was still dripping down his arm and off of the ends of his fingers. Peter tugged on Flash’s opposite sleeve and made him stop walking long enough to examine. His bottom lip was split and swollen, his left eye was swollen shut and starting to turn black, and there was another cut on his left cheekbone. Peter remembered the ring Harrison Thompson wore on his left hand. He remembered it glinting in the sunlight the day they were given a ride back to school from Central Park. “Did your dad do this to you? Don’t lie.”

Flash pulled out of Peter’s grip and continued walking towards the police station. “I don’t lie. You do.” They entered the lobby and Flash walked right past the front desk and into the bullpen. “Is DeWolff here?”

One of the officers nearby stood in their path. “It’s 8:30 pm. Captain ain’t here.”

“What happened to you, kid?” Another officer spoke up.

“I need to report a rape.”

Peter’s eyes grew wide and his breath stopped. He re-examined his classmate, looking him over from head to foot. Who would-?

“Go get EMS.” The first officer called to the second. “Have a seat, kid. What’s your name?”

Flash didn’t move. “One of your finest is fucking a sixteen year old girl at his house right now. You can’t all be dirty. Why don’t you send a couple of cars over to Tank Thompson’s house? Maybe you.” He pointed to a female officer and she glanced toward the first officer.

“Sarge?” she asked.

His eyes bore into Flash’s. “Go ahead. Take Burns and Diego. Maybe McGill, too. Sit down, son. Who’s this?” He gestured first to a chair beside his desk and then to Peter.

“My witness.” Flash sat down hard. Peter gingerly pulled another chair over and also sat.

“Go ahead. Start with your name. I’m Sergeant Baisle, by the way. Need anything? Medical’s on its way.”

“Eugene Thompson, Harrison’s my dad. I went home after school, about 6:00, and his car was out front.”

“His POV or black and white?”

“Black and white. 2187. I went in the front door and he was having sex on the couch with a sixteen year old girl.”

“How do you know she was sixteen?”

“She’s a classmate of mine.”

Peter closed his eyes. Oh, god.

“Go on.”

“I tackled him off of her and started punching him, but she distracted me and he got the upper hand.”

“How’d she distract you?”

“Called my name. Told me to stop hitting him.”

Baisle looked up in surprise. “He wasn’t forcing himself on her?”

“Guess not.”

“What’s the girl’s name? This stays confidential, by the way, cuz she’s a minor.” Baisle looked up as EMS arrived.

“Elizabeth Allan. A-L-L-A-N.” Peter felt his stomach turn.

“Are you allergic to penicillin, sweetie?” The female EMT asked.

“No.”

“I’m gonna give you a shot. That arm could be infected.” Flash nodded. “What did it?”

“Lamp. Initial blow was to the back of the head. I have a concussion. I lost consciousness and vomited when I woke up. My vision is blurry.”

She finished administering the penicillin and combed through his hair with her fingers. “How do you feel about going bald for a while? At least two of these wounds could use stitches.” Flash shrugged. “It’s sad when a man can diagnose himself. You get hurt a lot?” Sergeant Baisle continued taking notes.

“Sure. Between sports and home, I spend a lot of time recuping.”

“Your daddy hits you a lot?” The EMT asked as she started cleaning up his arm with antiseptic.

“Not as much now. It was worse when I was smaller. Or more often, anyway, like every day. Now I’m getting stronger and he’s peaked, so it’s less frequent but he uses tools now. Bats, baton, chair leg.”

“What’d he hit you over the head with tonight?”

“I don’t know.”

“Looks like a ring imprint on his cheek. Could use a camera.” Sergeant Baisle opened his desk drawer and pulled out a digital camera. The EMT took a few pictures and handed it back.

“Eugene, have you ever reported your dad’s abuse before?” The young sergeant looked at Flash intently.

The boy nodded. “It’s Flash. Yeah, a few times.”

“To whom?”

“Cops twice here, once in precinct four and once in seven. Teachers several times,” Peter thought of Miss Hartche. “Neighbors a couple of times, and my uncle once. Last time was maybe four years ago? I kind of gave up.”

“Were you ever removed from your home?”

“Once, but not for the abuse.”

“Then what for?” The EMT had moved on to Flash’s face and he talked around her.

“My mom killed herself and they thought my dad was suicidal so they put me and my sister in temporary foster care. Well, mine was temporary anyway.” Peter had stopped breathing again and thought he saw Flash’s eyes start to get moist. Of course, he was getting antisepticced in the face.

“What about your sister?”

“She got adopted out. She was only four, so...”

“How old were you?”

“Ten. Just about eleven. She had just turned four a week before mom died.”

“Why’d she do it?” Peter winced at the sergeant’s abruptness, but Flash just shrugged. “He ever hit her?”

“No. Never. Well, once before I was born. She asked him to hit her in the stomach so she’d miscarry. He said it didn’t work and he felt so bad he said he’d shoot himself before hurting her again. He told me Thompsons don’t hit women.”

“They just beat the crap out of little boys.” Baisle’s eyes blazed. Peter noticed a family photo on the corner of the desk. The officer appeared to have a wife and two young sons.

“I guess.”

“Honey, what happened here?” The EMT had pulled the back of the neck of his T-shirt down, revealing several cuts running down his back, concealed by his shirt.

“That’s from a few weeks ago. He threw me up against a picture window and it broke.”

“I’m gonna take some pictures of those and take care of his head wounds. You about done?” She asked Baisle.

“Yeah.” He pulled the camera out of his drawer again and handed it to her. “How’d your mom do it?”

Flash shrugged. “She started her car up in the garage, took a bottle of pills, climbed up a ladder and tied a rope around the garage door frame and her neck...” He paused and swallowed hard. “Cut her wrists and kicked the ladder away. FOS said any one of them could’ve done it.”

“Let me guess; your dad found her.”

Flash shook his head. “I did. Came home from school and went in the garage for a basketball.”

“Shit. She leave a note?” Flash shook his head and the EMT led him to a back room. “You know this girl?” He asked Peter, settling back in his chair.

“Liz? Yeah, we all go to the same school.” Peter was dazed.

“What’s she bonkin’ an old man for?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. I think she has issues.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Can I make a couple of phone calls? I’m supposed to pick up my aunt in ten minutes.”

“Do what you gotta do.” Baisle started typing his notes into his computer.

Peter got up and walked into the lobby. He pulled out his phone and saw he had missed a call from Aunt May. He pressed playback.

‘Hi, Peter. It’s been a crazy night. I’m going to stay and work a double shift. I’ll grab a cot if I need a nap, so don’t worry about me! Get some rest and eat breakfast before school. Don’t be late for school! I love you, sweetheart. Good night!’

And that solves that. Peter went back to Baisle’s desk and sat down in the same chair. The sergeant didn’t even look up. Ten minutes later, Flash and the EMT returned from a back room. “All done with him, Sarge. I’ll quick write up my report and send it over. My recommendation, get an RO on his old man based on a history of retaliation.”

“Thanks, Louisa. Flash, have a seat.” He gestured tiredly to the chair beside Peter, leaned back, and sighed. “Got a place you can stay for a while?”

“How long’s a while?”

“Till you turn eighteen, I guess. We can get you a temporary placement.”

Flash sighed. “I’m not even here for me. I’m here cuz of Liz. She needs help.”

“Yeah, we’ll get her that. But you need it, too. Look, your file is almost completely redacted. I don’t know what kind of dirt your dad is involved in, but I was brought in by George Stacy.” Flash’s eyes snapped up at that. “If you need a place to stay until we find something long-term, you can come home with me. We’ll come back tomorrow and meet with the captain. She’s going to want to get to know you. What do you say?”

Flash shrugged. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m pretty sure you’ll find out tomorrow that my dad’s untouchable. Doesn’t matter anyway. I just want you to help Liz. She doesn’t understand what she’s getting involved in.”

“You did the right thing, coming in. Can you think of someone who might take you in for the night?”

“I can make a couple of calls.”

There was a commotion in the lobby as four officers entered the building with Harrison and Liz in tow. Liz had a blanket wrapped around her. Harrison was shirtless, his muscles bulging. His arms were handcuffed behind his back and an officer gripped each of his arms tightly. When he saw Flash, he went crazy. “You stupid son of a bitch! I’ll kill you, you fuckin’ loser! I’ll fucking kill you, you motherfucking cunt!” He broke out of the officers’ grip and lunged forward. Two more officers ran across the room and restrained him just a few feet away from Flash, who had stood and visibly steeled himself.

Liz was crying. “What’s your problem, Flash? You don’t want me, but no one else can have me either? That isn’t fair!”

Louisa, the EMT that treated Flash, approached Liz. “Come on back with me, dear. Do you have a mom or dad we can call?”

“My momma’s workin’ a street corner and ya’ll jus’ arrested my daddy.” She put on a heavy southern belle accent and spit at the EMT.

Baisle raised an eyebrow and looked at Flash.

“I’ve got her mom’s number. Her dad isn’t around.” Flash reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Fuck you, you fucking sellout! Police pussy! I bet you’d stick your dick in one of those lady cops, wouldn’t you?” Liz screeched as Louisa and another female officer half led, half dragged her down the hallway to the exam room.

“Big man here again, huh? Makin’ new friends?” Harrison shook his handcuffed hands at one of the officers in the hall. Peter noticed he had his hand resting on his Taser, ready for the large man to bolt again. “Come on, get these bracelets offa me. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” The officer didn’t move.

“No can do, Tank. You want us to call your lawyer before we sit down and jaw?” Baisle stood and leaned onto his fists planted on his desktop.

“Sure.” Harrison smiled widely. “His name’s Wilson Fisk. I believe you’ve met?”

 

Peter stared at his bedroom ceiling, willing his eyelids to stay closed. He huffed, flopped over onto his right side, and glared at his alarm clock. 3:30. In three hours, the alarm would be blaring to get him out of bed for school. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to play hooky this badly. Well, if he was going to be awake, he may as well be fighting crime. He climbed out of bed and pulled on his costume. Uniform. Obviously uniform. His window was already open, so he dove out headfirst, turned a double somersault in midair, and landed softly on the grass. He’d peek in the front window before heading out, just to make sure his houseguest was still asleep on the couch in the living room. Spider-Man crept along the side of the house and gasped, throwing himself back into the shadows. Flash Thompson was sitting on the front porch steps, elbows resting on his knees, and eyes gazing at his stockinged feet. He held his shoes in his left hand. Spider-Man leaped back up through his bedroom window, stripped his suit off, threw his night clothes back on, and ran out of his bedroom to slide down the bannister into the living room. “Flash?” He called loudly. He opened the front door and stepped onto the porch. “What are you doing out here?” Peter felt a twinge of guilt when his classmate/bully/friend(?) jumped.

“You first.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I got up to raid the fridge. 3:00 is too early for breakfast, so I figured ice cream would be okay, huh?”

Flash smiled slightly. Win. “I was going to run a bit.”

“You run every morning, right? And evening? I remember you said that once.”

“Yeah, I try. Not usually this early. Late. Whatever.”

“You like running?”

Flash shrugged. “I appreciate it. I’m not always healthy enough to do it.”

“Are you going to be one of those crazy hundred-milers?”

Flash’s bruised face brightened. “Actually, I’d love to do that. Start with a couple of marathons after graduation, maybe.” He darkened again and started putting his shoes on.

“Hey. They’re going to get you a place to stay until you’re eighteen and then you can do whatever you want. Your dad can’t get near you with the restraining order.” Peter said softly and placed his hand on Flash’s shoulder for a split second before the larger boy shrugged it off.

“You’re so stupid if you think everything’s going to be all better all of a sudden.”

“It could be! Look, I’ll talk to my aunt. I know she’d let you stay here until you go off to college. It’d be easy, too. She’s already in the CFS system, so-”

“I’m not going to ask your aunt for help.” Flash jerked his final shoelace taut angrily. “I’m only even here because she’s not. Thanks for the couch, by the way. You didn’t have to offer.”

Peter shrugged. “Not that you used it at all.”

“I dozed a bit. It was good.”

“Good.” He paused. “Nobody doesn’t like my aunt.”

“Well.” Flash stood and stared at Peter tiredly. “Are you going to get some shoes on? Or were you going to let me run alone post-concussion so I can die by myself from a brain aneurysm on some side street somewhere?”

Peter reached in through the open front door and grabbed his sneakers. “If you let your brain explode, I will take you to the hospital where my sweet dear aunt is working right now. And if you slip into a coma, we’re moving you in.”

“So if I feel my head start to implode, jump in front of a train. Got it.” Peter stared at him blankly, remembering the night he found Flash on the bridge as Spider-Man. “What?” Flash was confused. “You don’t like trains? Fine, a bus then. If I get the chance, I’ll step in front of a bus.” He suddenly looked stricken and placed his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes.

“Flash?!” Peter jerked forward quickly and grabbed the pale boy by the shoulders, one arm around the jock’s back. He firmly led him to the porch. “Sit down before you pass out. Should I call an ambulance? Are you okay?”

Flash shook his head and refused to sit. “Just, can I-” His voice trembled. “Could I take a shower? I think I just need a shower and to go back to sleep.”

“Of course, yeah, of course. The night just caught up with you maybe. It’s upstairs, I’ll go up with you and grab you a towel.” He followed close behind the injured boy who guided himself up the stairs with a shaking hand on the railing, breaths shallow and unsteady. When they got to the second floor, Peter opened a cabinet and pulled out a bathroom towel and washcloth. “Here. Shower’s right ahead. Take one as long and hot as you need. I’ll be in my bedroom right there if you need anything.” Flash took the linens from his host wordlessly and stepped into the bathroom. After he closed and locked the door, Peter waited for the water to turn on and then returned to his bedroom where he sat on his bed and waited.


End file.
